What Remains
by Emperor Kumquat
Summary: After a horrifying accident regarding America, Canada covers up all evidence. To keep his secret, he must pose as America and fool the world into believing that he is him. Meanwhile, Britain works feverishly to find a cure for America's worsening "condition".
1. Chapter 1

The sky was an awe-inspiring blue, the day we came to the mountain. Once we broke free from the forest, America was the first to spot its mass in the near distance, and I remember the excitement of the find. He perked and pointed, although there had been no way for me to miss it. The mountain's length extended over all visible land and its height loomed like an omnipotent power before us.

"We'll be right up there!" America exclaimed, his finger steady on the peak. "In a few hours, we should be touching the clouds!"

My phone was already out and capturing a photo. In response though, I murmured, "It isn't so high, America..."

I don't know if he heard me or had chosen to ignore me, but he led us onward over the parched dirt and scorched grass. I hurried after him to flee the bites of the forest mosquitoes, heading directly into the untamed sunlight. My phone fell back into a khaki pocket as my head twisted around to take in all the sights. The contrast of colours stunned me, the sharp blue against green, yellow, and beige- and I wondered if it impressed America as well. He had put me in charge of taking today's pictures anyway, either out of laziness or vague interest.

We said nothing for a while. Birds were the ones to break the silence, erupting from bushes occasionally or releasing chirps on swerves past us. A rabbit once scampered on ahead and vanished, but we commented on nothing until we reached the foot of the mountain. There, we finally collapsed into the shade and our backpacks slid off our backs.

"Melting yet, Canada?" America teased.

I could see that his eyes were trained on my dripping sweat. I glanced back down to my hand undoing the zipper of my bag, then said, "It's alright. I've had it warmer."

Naturally, our packs were filled with an abundance of water bottles and protein bars. I gratefully gulped down some water as America crammed a Clif bar into his mouth. Still chewing, he laughed at my reply although I was not so sure why. I only finished off my water and ate a bit to refuel before we would soon set off again.

This was not our first time at this mountain, since it was near our joined houses on his side of the border. It was therefore no problem finding the path and powering up the steep slope. Some rocks and tree roots barred our way which needed to be hopped over, thus eventually I grew fatigued the higher we marched. But I hid it the best that I could, lest America would catch me and poke fun at me. After all, I was winded and in awe as he pushed on ahead. For someone whose diet was questionable, I was amazed that he did not seemed tired in the least.

Clouds kept themselves at a distance, so the sun only blazed over all and pried to reach our sun-screened flesh. I clung to the straps of my backpack and panted softly out my mouth while the humidity of the summer day weighted itself like a blanket upon me. There were a few trees along the way that offered the shade which I missed, but with America's swift pace, I did not get to enjoy it. My sweat sailed and splattered the cracked dirt as I forced myself onward, swallowing my huffs and puffs.

"Oh- here, here!" America yipped. He raced to a tree leaning almost horizontally over the side of the mountain, then laid himself down upon it. Too late for me to hinder him, America gazed over at me with a grin and waited for me to take a picture.

I was at least thankful for the break. Knowing that he would not move until I did as he wanted, I slowly removed my phone and aimed the camera at him. It was hard to see what was on screen in the harsh light, so I dipped the phone into my shadow to check on it. Immediately after an approval, he stood upright on the tree and hung over the drop off the path.

I hesitantly looked at him from over the phone. My heart pattered worriedly in my chest and I felt inclined to try, "Come over here, America. I think that's too dangerous…"

"Oh come on, dude- take another pic!"

"America-"

"Come oooon!"

America puffed out his chest and I silently obeyed, just to get him back on solid ground sooner. He hopped off safely then trotted on ever upward, leaving me to soon be tuckered once more. Again though, I got a break when America insisted on another picture. This time, he wanted just a photo of himself pretending to eat the bright berries of a bush along the path. I sighed and complied, disapproving strongly however when he pulled the branch into his gaping mouth. He never touched them, but already I could see the trend of the day.

"Are you going to be doing dangerous things all day?" I asked once we had returned to trudging along the path.

America slowed so that he could walk by my side.

"It's fine," he smirked. "You know I'm being careful. I do these kinds of things all the time! It's just funny, dude. I just like seeing the reactions when I post these pics. You know I love trolling Britain and getting him all worked up!"

"What about some nice pictures of you and the background?" I gently suggested. "People would like those too, and then they wouldn't think you were just being stupid..."

America let out a fake groan then smiled, "Alright then, how about here?"

He darted up ahead and set himself up standing against the blue sky. I was more relaxed over this one. Although believing that he would never ask, I inquired, "Could you take a picture of me too? I don't have any yet so I was thinking-"

"Oh, sure man! Jeez you only had to ask, Canada."

He swept my phone from my hands and I felt a warmth of happiness. I took his place and faced the camera, clasping my hands and donning a gentle expression. I heard the click then moved forward toward his compliment.

"Nice one!" America passed the phone back to me. "Here."

My phone went back into my pocket, but it would not stay there for long. Every few minutes, America always wanted to do some kind of creative stunt or just assume a nonchalant pose. Most for the internet of course, few that he would be interested in keeping. I took less pictures of myself since I did not require so many for keeping's sake, and any pictures we were both in I would only get tagged in anyway.

There was no reason to attract attention to myself. In fact, even if I had tried, I was sure that not many would notice one of "Canada's" posts. Not letting it get me down, I entertained America until we ventured out onto a jutting ledge. I slid into the shade under a scruffy tree as America jogged to the edge and assumed a power stance there. Who knows what was running through his mind, but I was convinced that he was pretending he was king of the world although we were not yet at the peak.

"Look at all that!" he laughed. "The wind's in our faces, the world flat out in front of us- it's pretty cool, isn't it?"

He did not wait for my response, which was fine when I was dumping water down my throat.

"I know we're not there yet, but the forest looks so small and far away now!"

"We've been going for hours," I replied now with a sweep of my arm over my mouth.

America backed off and opened his bag. I was surprised and rather relieved when he sat down beside me, and I thought, _At last, he must be tired_. America dug into his pack and took a drink, then leaned back and shared the skinny trunk of the tree with me. We rested there for many quiet minutes with our arms sticking to each other, before America rose and I knew our journey would continue.

"What d'ya think, twenty more minutes?" America hummed.

I noticed how he had slowed down to stay beside me instead of walking up ahead in front. I was impressed and delighted by the sign of kindness, glad that we were together.

"I think so," I murmured.

"Fifteen though, if we push it."

"No, we don't have to do that. We don't have to hurry…"

The path rose in a dramatic steep ascension. I suddenly remembered this part from one of our last visits, and how the first time we wondered if it was truly on the regular mountain path. We were still unsure, but climbing up and over it on all fours always gained us quick distance.

My brother and I set to it and scaled the rocky hill, slapping our hands on stone for good grip and grabbing at the occasional tree. Both of us dragged our bodies over the edge then stood to regard what we had accomplished. We dusted off our chalky shirts, then pushed back a group of trees onto what might have been a seldom-used path.

I took more pictures of the wild scenery. As my eyes and camera were focused on a little blue flower, America let out a gasp. My head popped up and I gazed at him inquisitively, meeting his shocked and excited expression.

"I just saw something!" he whisper-yelled to me. "Big and slow, just crawled off! I don't think it saw us…"

"A cougar probably," I replied. "Which probably did see us. Let's wait a bit and let it leave… Where did you see it, America?"

"Just up the path in the bushes. Went up the hill and disappeared into the trees."

I looked to my left where there was another exposed ledge sticking out over the mountain, one that mirrored the last one we visited.

"Let's wait out there for a bit to let it wander away," I said. "How about we take another break and some pictures?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

We left the overgrown path and padded over the bare rock. Here, there was also another lone tree that I took refuge under from the relentless sun. America dropped down with me again, although after he had drunk some water, he sprang right back up.

"Alright, let's get going!"

"Not yet," I objected. "Not enough time has passed…"

"Ugh, fine, fine." America hopped away from me. "Some more pictures then!"

I combed my fingers through my sweaty hair while my other hand retrieved the phone. I walked after him, distracted for a moment as I typed in the password. When I looked up however, he was standing by the edge again and looking down at the land like a pompous ruler.

"America, maybe a little closer to me…"

I hesitated with the camera again as America turned around.

"Come on, don't worry so much!" He ran back to me and quickly gave me a cuff on the arm. It had surprisingly not hurt, and when he remained close to me and smiling by my face, I ended up smiling back. I hoped he would do another brotherly thing and ruffle my hair, then listen to me of course, but he only scampered off again.

I sighed when he was back to the cliff, balancing himself onto one leg and pretending that he was going to take a step off the edge. I took only one photo so that it would be over promptly. Just after the click though was when America took his step and dropped. A yelp hurdled out my mouth but then he stopped half a metre down, his feet disappeared and his knees at the visible edge.

"Scared you, didn't I?" He shuffled around so that he could see my pale face. I quickly shook off my fright and pocketed my phone, now starting to feel annoyed with him. I marched up to America with my forehead wrinkling slightly, thinking of what I could say that he wouldn't laugh at.

A metre away from his grinning face however, we both heard a rumbling crack. America's face was immediately wiped of all amusement and he dove forward. He tripped over the edge and snatched onto my outstretched arm as the chunk of rock slid away. The grip tightened and hurt, but I hardly noticed when I stared right into the terror in his eyes, saw how he gritted teeth, and felt how he trembled.

We then heard the snaps below America's feet. I yanked back but America dropped, his chest smacking the rock and one of his hands losing its grip. My other hand snapped onto his single arm as he swung over the edge and clawed frantically to pull himself over. I pulled and gasped while he hissed fearfully, "Shit, shit! Don't let go, don't you fucking let go!"

A piece of stone chipped off and America slipped back down again. I was jerked forward, panting and staring at the shrunken landscape beyond America. It got harder to see or hear as my body became flooded with a burning white heat. Then however, came one enormous crack that sliced through everything and exploded my senses.

The overbite of the cliff crumbled away and instantly America plunged as though pulled by a line. My body shot down and once my face had gone over, my eyes spun and I panicked. I whipped myself back forcefully and there was extreme tension in my arm for a second, before it vanished. Skin zipped by under the palm of my other hand, so fast I had no time to clench and stop it. I snapped back weightless, and America's scream erupted a second later, already far below the fresh cut of the cliff.

Corrupted by shock, I raced back to the edge and hung my body over it. It cracked in warning, but I heard it not as I screamed America's name in vain. He shot downwards, arms stretched to the ground until he struck the lower ledge we had rested at before. There, I watched the dried-out corpse of a branch disappear into his abdomen and his head strike a jagged block of stone.

He lay still, his body folded over the rock slab. I was relieved for a moment; his fall had been stopped and I could reach him. What had just occurred did not faze me as much as it would since I was so excited that he had been caught on the way down. I began to move away to race after him, but just as I peeled my chest off the ground, I saw his body slowly slip to the side.

He did not make a sound as he fell into the void. Completely helpless to stop it, relentless screeches poured out from me and my arms flailed over the edge. My hands grasped at the body growing smaller, until it dropped out of sight and crashed through the trees below. By then I froze, mouth gaping and eyes popping at tranquil scenery that had consumed him.

Three choked clucks from my throat, then everything became so silent for a moment. That is, until I remembered how to move. Our bags were forgotten as I shot for the path and my screams tore the air. I even lost control of them and they came relentlessly, my head snapping around to each one. I kept forgetting to breathe as I ate up the dirt path and bolted down the mountain.

I leapt straight over the steep incline and squirmed in the air until I slammed into the ground. Fresh and bleeding scrapes burned and my bones throbbed, but I rolled and charged on ahead. Every step, my crooked hands clawed the air and my teeth gnashed after each agonized scream. No thoughts could even enter my mind as I sprinted and fell down the path.

I couldn't even think of how stupid he had been.

" _America_! _Ameeeriicaaa!_ "

My cries rang out so high from the mountain. He would never have heard me even if he could have, for so painfully far was I from the bottom. Never had anything taken so long to do. Each second away from America tore at me, each second without knowing his fate tortured me as my mind became filled with flashes of bloody images.

" _America!_ "

All I could say.

 _America!_

All I could think and see.

* * *

Half an hour. It took me half an hour to find my brother at the bottom of the mountain and within a strip of trees. And there was no denying it even for my sanity, that he had survived the fall.

America was undisputedly long-dead. His body was spread over the ground, arms outstretched but legs crossed in a broken jumble. I stared, unable to break my gaze away from the gruesome mess that he had become upon the forest floor. I had not even known so much blood was in the human body. But there it was, drained over the topsoil around his spiked remains.

Based upon the broken canopy, I knew that branches had caught him on his descent with their sharp fingers. They had snapped and left their chipped bark and long rods jutting out in various locations. There were as well long needles impaled in him, the needles of a neighboring honey locust tree which America must have crashed through.

I only wished that this had been all, then at least he would have appeared alive. A low branch however, seemed to have slit open his stomach, and now his innards had been lifted from his body. They draped like a dark curtain from the branch to him, the connective tissue torn and intestines in a severed tangle.

" _America_ …"

Slowly, I approached him with an otherworldly feeling. A dream, this had to be. I held onto his face and turned it, the tears spilling down my face as blood seeped out America's lips. My eyes gazed into his but they were so dull. There was not an ounce of life left in them.

I had no idea when it had happened, if I had witnessed it on the slab, if he had died in the open air, or if the final tears of the trees had done it. There was no way for me to know either, if he had stayed alive for a time as I was climbing down the mountain. He might have suffered for minutes, immobile and crying until he died alone and without comfort. I could not distinguish any tears when there was so much blood on his face.

And I wondered what I could do. My hands hovered over him but there was nowhere I could put them to use. Finally, I snapped away and screeched, clawing my fingernails into my face. My feet fell heavily until I careened and collapsed, sobbing into a tree trunk with my back to my brother. Soon I panicked when I could not breathe, when my lungs convulsed and refused to expand. Now I could not even scream as I suffocated.

 _Help him, help…_

But no one could help. I curled and gasped inwards a horrible, rasping breath as I thought, _There's nothing that can be done. He can't be saved, he's dead, he's dead…_

Suddenly I was aware of the weight in my pocket. My phone. I still had my phone. I crammed in my fingers after it and yanked it out, desperately failing to set in the password a few times before I succeeded.

 _I need to tell someone. I need to tell them…!_

I attacked the phone for my contacts then frantically pressed at a name near the top of the list. I then slammed the phone against my head, my arm crossed over to press it against the opposite ear. My left arm was squeezing my core and I hugged myself so painfully tight. A poor attempt to comfort and contain myself.

After a few rings directly into my ear, he answered.

"Hello, Canada," Britain began. "What-"

"Britain!" I squeaked. "Oh my god, Britain…"

Then my lungs spasmed again and I choked on my words. I fought to spit them out as Britain leapt into panic and demanded, "Canada? What happened? Canada!"

"America-i-is-d-dead…"

"What? America-"

I squeezed myself ever tighter. "H-he's dead…" I coughed.

I heard the alarm in Britain's voice and grew terrified to hear it. More and more was it all becoming a reality.

"What are you talking about?" Britain gasped. "What happened?"

I spluttered, "The c-cliff we w-were… he fell… I tried to pull h-h-him…"

"Canada, calm down." Britain's voice grew steadier. "Please, it's alright. He cannot be dead."

"But he's dead!" I shrieked. "You can't see it, but I told you! He's dead, dead, dead… It's everywhere!"

"Listen," he murmured, voice even quieter and gentler. "It will be okay. We cannot die, Canada. Not when our countries are functioning. This can be fixed, I promise you this."

Dumbfounded, I went silent and listened.

"Canada," he repeated, gaining my focus. "He cannot die. No matter what you see right now, trust me. He is not dead."

"He isn't breathing," I whispered. "His organs…"

"It does not matter. He cannot die."

My body slowly revolved so that I was staring at America's corpse once again. Britain's words echoed through my mind as I observed his still form which flies were already landing upon. A chill ran down my spine as I focused on their greasy, black bodies.

I said, "I don't understand… How can he heal from this?"

"It will be alright," Britain whispered. "Trust me."

"Britain, I don't-"

"Am I the first one you called?"

I nodded. "Y-yes…"

Britain sighed, "Good… You were right to call me. Now don't tell anyone else. We better not start panic over this..."

The buzzing of wings past my ear threw me into desperation. I ran over to America and frantically swatted the flies away from him. I then plopped down and continued to protect him, waving constantly over the blood.

"So he's alive?" My voice lifted and my dizziness began to fade. "He isn't really dead?"

But when my hand fell upon his neck, I felt no pulse. I was launched back into a panic and Britain heard my gasp. Swiftly he cried, "He is fine, Canada! Listen, I need you to pull yourself together. Don't you want to help him?"

I was quiet once more.

"I need you to help him since I'm not there to do it. So… Just… you're going to have to do one thing. Put him back together. The best that you can."

"Al-alright..." I whimpered.

"Start now, while I tell you more. You need to know this as soon as possible."

I was already standing and trying to untangle his guts from the branch while keeping the phone pinned between my shoulder and my ear.

"What?" I asked.

"Very soon, Canada," Britain began. "America will start to move again. Sew him up and clean him, then leave him locked up for a while. With the amount of damage he has taken, he will not heal correctly on his own. So I need to make a potion of regeneration that will regrow what is lost and set all the broken pieces back together and in the right place. Trust me on this. I can save him."

"Why are you so calm?" I mewled. "How can you be so _calm_?"

"I know what to do," he answered. "I've done this before to another nation a long time ago... It will be alright and he _will_ return to his absolute normal self with memories up to the incident. Okay? Everything will be fine."

"H-how long…" My throat seized up again and I failed to ask the question.

"How long will it take to fix him?" Britain responded. "As long as it takes to track down the ingredients and prepare them. Unfortunately, the potion requires some rare items and it might take me months… like the last time. Bloody hell, I wish I could have had extra of this stuff for a time like this."

"Months!" I cried. "Months, like this?"

"Canada, Canada… You have to help me out a lot. I need you to be strong, alright? Now it is you who has to deal with it."

The guts dropped from the branch, slipping from my hands and striking America with a wet slap. I gawked at my scarlet hands as more and more, what Britain was saying became clear to me. "It? What _it_?" I stammered. "What is this, Britain? What on earth is happening?"

"He is not dead," Britain murmured. "But he will rot to a point. It will stop as his body fights to heal, and you need to not be scared. Just keep him chained up and locked away. You have to do this. Because eventually, he will attack you or any nation he can get to."

My eyes flew open and I shuffled away from America.

"Canada, do not let him free!" Britain barked now to frighten me into obedience. "He will try to rip out the pieces he is missing and put them into himself. His body will go to extreme lengths to repair itself, even though it will _never_ succeed. Without my potion, I mean. Canada, he will get stronger! And stronger... The more desperate he gets... and I do not know how strong America will become because he is already powerful to begin with. So chains, not rope. Buy _chains_."

My head jerked side-to-side as my face scrunched up. The phone dropped and I stared at it for a moment, quivering violently until I retrieved it. When it was back against my face, sticky and wet, I whined, "Britain, help me, I can't do this. Oh god I'm so scared- I can't, I can't, I-"

"You must. I will be here for you, I will come over often for you, but only you can cover his disappearance. You'll... have to become America so that no one knows what happened."

"But they have to know!"

"This can't leak out," Britain muttered. "There are some nations that would take advantage of his weakness and attack the country while they can. You have to step in and pretend to be your brother. Your faces are similar, though your hair could be trimmed, contacts needed, and of course- you must act like him and talk like him."

"While he is locked up in the basement!" I wailed. "Rotting, becoming- a zombie? A zombie!"

"Not a zombie…" Britain murmured. "He is not dead."

"This is undead," I barely breathed out, backing further away from America although the flies had started to settle again. "Like a movie. Dead, moving… attacking us."

"He is not undead. He's alive without a heartbeat... his body trying to heal back to what it was," Britain sighed. "Dying but not dead, a condition that I think as a _constant death_."

"You know this because it happened before…" I whispered. "Who? What happened…?"

"When this happened before, my friend… he had been burned to a crisp. When I went to bury him though, he started to move. Little more than a skeleton he was, but I thought I could save him. I kept him at home for a while but found out soon that he was not really alive."

"Oh god…"

"He was healing though, improving somewhat. I was asleep however, on the night that he could walk again. And he walked up to me, and somehow that brittle skeleton had the strength to tear off some skin off my arm. Some ropes solved my problems, and kept him from hurting anyone anymore until I completed the cure and applied it."

"He _will_ become dangerous though…" I breathed. "He won't know what he is doing..."

"Lock him away and I will hurry to save him," Britain told me. "Don't be afraid of what he looks like. It's your brother America, and he is unwell. Do what you can to protect him. Be him, just for a little while."

"But you know how he is- I'm not like him! I can't be so loud, so reckless, so- so _American_!"

"I know you can do it with some motivation. Now come on, Canada. Worry about that later. Put him together for now and stitch him back up. Wash him and give him some clean clothes, then go buy some chains. You have enough time. It will still be a while before he becomes a threat."

"O-okay…." I choked and glanced back to his crumpled form. "I… I'll do it."

"I've told you all I know," Britain said. "I'll leave you to it. Call me once you've taken care of everything, alright?"

"Alright…"

My eyes did not leave the body.

"Everything will be fine," he repeated. "This _has_ happened before, I promise. I know what needs to be done… I will save him."

"I believe you…"

"Good luck, Canada."

He hung up before I could serve up another frightened question. Shakily, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and stepped toward America. He still did not breathe, still did not blink… he made no movement at all thus it was difficult to believe that he ever would. That he even _could_ move and cause the amount of damage Britain had described.

"A zombie…" I murmured to myself. "But it will be okay… Britain said nothing about him being infectious. He will be creepy, but not a problem."

I grasped onto a needle and pulled. Caught up in muscle, it was dragged out so slowly. It popped out into the open air and I took a moment to examine the sharp point queasily.

"The hardest part will probably just be trying to act like him," I whispered to ease my jittery nerves. "That's all. And when this is all over and everything is back to normal, he'll probably find this so cool. Funny too, that I tried to act American. But mostly cool, that he was undead for a short period of time…"


	2. Chapter 2

The more I thought about Britain's words, the more desensitized I became about my job. Despite the blood and the cooling organs I had to handle, as long as I did not believe he was dead, the easier it was.

I could deal with my grief by thinking of myself as a sort of doctor that was putting him back together. But nothing quite fit in right. I crammed and patted in his guts, but it was all misplaced and twisted, and then some things were missing. From what I could tell, his stomach and pancreas were gone, a kidney lost to the canopy, and the other one impaled on the dry branch sticking out of his abdomen. I really had no idea what to do with the severed and broken organs, but I fit them in to the best of my ability.

 _It doesn't matter so much since the potion will fix it all_ , I thought. _Britain said just put him together the best I can. I think this is the right place… Anyway the better I do, the better it will probably be for him…_

Once I had found all that I could, I folded his skin over. Already he looked a lot better, but had still not reacted to me. I knelt down on the blood-smeared ground and pulled out the needles and branches, brushing away dirt and bark scraps to clean him up.

"Much better," I whispered. "You'll be okay…"

I brushed away the flies again before sliding down to his legs. One of them in particular was broken in a few places, but I pushed it straight to match the other. The ankle flopped right over, but other than that he was looking a lot less horrible.

"So then… I guess I better take you back to the car," I murmured to myself. "Get you home…"

I dug my hands under his armpits and began to drag him back toward the path. Lifting up his back, I could see more spikes to remove and a section of exposed spine. There was also a concerning amount of blood crushed into his hair, but I tried not to think of it as I plucked out the honey locust needles.

America was surprisingly light after losing so much blood. As I took him along, I wondered, _Would trying to heal him slow down the rotting process? Should I donate some of my blood to him? When I stitch him back up, should I try to connect all his intestines? Would that help if his stomach's missing?_

I didn't even know if Britain had these answers, since he had talked about a burn victim. Although I really was quite relieved that this had happened before and Britain had so much information, it disturbed me to imagine what he had seen.

 _We see these things all the time on TV and in videogames, but what is it really like? Britain did not seem so scared talking about it although he said he had kept a corpse in his house._ I imagined briefly, a black skeleton sitting in a living room's armchair. I gave a twitch but reminded myself, _It was Britain's friend. And this is my brother. I can't be scared of him or else it might make it hard for me to help him._

I was nervous dragging a body out into the open plain. This mountain was not popular during this season and especially on a boiling day like today, so I was counting on the heat that no one would be around to see me. I did not want to go through the drama of someone thinking that a stranger like me had murdered someone. So the best I could do was stick close to bushes and trees in order to traverse the stretch of dry ground unseen.

Sweat cascaded off me and I panted constantly. I wished I had one of our packs so I could drink some water and cure my parched throat, but I could only be left with a sour taste of curd in my mouth. I smacked my lips and was relieved when I returned to the large forest of shade and mosquitoes. Here though, I slowed my pace in order to listen to any footsteps or voices that might come my way.

America never made the slightest movement or sound, but I trusted Britain's words and took caution around him. I would never look away for too long. The sounds of birds and squirrels startled my taut nerves, but fortunately no problems came up on the way back to my car.

I put him down to dig into my tight pocket, find the keys, and drag them out. Such a relief it was then that I had driven here, since America had not wanted any mud or branches to dirty his new vehicles in the forest. I imagined that any keys America would have taken would have been lost to the mountain otherwise.

My car was unlocked and the truck was thrown open. In the back, there was only a towel, umbrella, and folding chair. I left the towel and tossed the rest into the backseat, then fixed America with weary eyes. After a deep breath, I lifted him up and set him into the trunk on his back so that he wouldn't fall apart again.

But now that made him a _body_ in the trunk. This fact struck me and I moaned softly, "This is _so_ wrong…"

I dried my hands a little on the towel before pulling down the door. My hands shook so terribly that I was just barely strong enough to click it shut. I then yanked open my door and dropped down into the driver's seat, where my hands stuck uncomfortably to everything. Just once, I glanced to the unoccupied backseat while I brought the car roaring to life.

The mirror was faced with forced concentration before I reversed out. Driving, I took the curves so slowly, thinking of how jostling America could make him re-spill his insides. Once back into a more populated area however, honks cried out when I did not go over the speed limit. This threw a weight of stress upon me. I sped up to get away from them, and secondly to speed past pedestrians who might glimpse my red hands although they were hiding on the bottom of the steering wheel. By this point, I worried less about America in my desperation to get home without getting caught.

Because of the condition of our homes, I was not required to drive the kilometres out to go through border control. I simply went straight to the building and swerved around to reach my garage. Unlike his, there was room for me to slide in the car and close it up from sight. Only then could I go back to the trunk and open it unseen.

My breath shortened as I lifted up the door, but when revealed, America was the same as before. He did not lunge at me; he did not even twitch. I scooped under him then swung back, cradling him in my arms. America only flopped lifelessly into me so I marched onward with him, although at every door I had to briefly set him down.

I deposited him on the tile floor of the kitchen to spare my carpets. Well, some spots had fallen here and there, but that could be shampooed out without much hassle. I ran away to give my hands a good wash, grab my sewing kit, then return to him. Already something squishy peeked out from his stomach, sneaking out from the slit. Upon sight of it, my stomach churned as I dropped down to my knees.

To concentrate, I told myself, "For America… to help him…"

I peeled back the skin to rearrange everything. I thought again about sewing organs together, but was then not sure about having irretrievable string inside him. Very carefully I curved his guts back into place and stuffed the rest where it should go.

 _Britain said everything would be fixed. The string better stay out then_ , I thought. _And he said "sew up". Probably means just close everything in and make him look more normal..._

I swallowed and raised my fidgeting hands, one holding a needle and the other thread. I struggled and missed, sniffing and growing more anxious the longer it took.

"Come _on_!" I hissed.

I bit my lip. Eventually I tossed this needle away and took a larger one with a bigger hole. I managed to feed the thread through this time, but regretted that such a big needle would create larger pricks in America.

Forcing myself to stare, I pulled the cut together bit by bit. Halfway up I felt good about what I was doing and how much better he looked. When I finished up, I turned him and worked with his back. I then searched for the smaller slits and holes, reconnecting his skin again until he was as whole as he could be.

I was more comfortable holding and carrying him now. Still immobile and feeling colder, the body was set into the bathtub. With a sharp pair of scissors I snipped off his clothes slowly and carefully, as to not harm him further. They were discarded into the trash before I ran the shower.

For a while, I let lukewarm water carry dirt and blood away on its own, then when I could better see where all his injuries were, I proceeded with shampoo. Far more gingerly than how I handled my own hair, I pulled and rubbed in the foam, locks at a time. I even took care to keep the shampoo away from his open eyes that stared directly forward at nothing.

I rinsed then examined his head. It was not as bad now as it had looked before and nothing was leaking out, but if he had been truly alive, I would have gotten him staples. I left his head to go clean the more serious wounds, very gently with soap and warm water. His skin lighted to a healthier colour once the dirt, bark, and blood was chased away. Better and better he looked, bringing me more peace and hope.

Through the building, I entered his home and brought back some of his clothes. He had been left dripping in the tub and when I came back, I dropped everything onto the floor. A fluffy towel was whisked into my hands then I approached him, though only to immediately scream.

The eyes that had first been directed forward were now turned, one blue eye focused on me. I launched back and was pinned against the drawers, towel in front and gasping heavily. My heartbeat pounded in my ears but he made not a movement toward me. Without blinking once however, the dull eye stayed locked upon me.

I swore softly and shifted to the side. The eye followed me. My shivering worsened and my breaths came fast, expecting him to drag himself out and crawl towards me, moaning and stretching like any film zombie. Yet I stayed for a minute and still nothing happened.

"Am-america…"

He was absolutely silent.

"I'm… going to help you now…"

This was more like motivation to move me forward. I raised the towel to his face, muscles tensed to fly back at the slightest snap. I felt the solid form of his temple under the towel and when I swiped to the side, nothing happened. I took away the towel to take a peek but found that he was still staring at me.

I ran the towel over his hair then down his neck. I quickly patted over his face, and still without reaction, I dried his arms, back, and chest. The eyes creaked degree-by-degree, focused precisely on me wherever I went. It was unnerving and I wanted so desperately to know what he was thinking, only to assure myself that it was probably _nothing_ that he was thinking.

The towel fell to the side as I very cautiously lifted him from the tub to set him onto the mat. In my arms, I could see his eyes in my peripheral vision upon me. Decimetres away. Perhaps it would not have bothered me so much if he blinked, and if his eyes were the normal colour. But this dull layer that hid away the eyes I had known, frightened me. Seeing them made it feel less and less like this was my brother.

I began to dry his lower body, keeping an eye on him as I whispered, "But it is… I cannot forget… This is America and will always _be_ America…" Then looking directly back into his eyes, I murmured, "You are America. Okay? That is who you are."

Silence. I raised his limp body up into a sitting position then fumbled with his arms until I could get him into a T-shirt. Pulling away and only regarding the upper body, it suddenly looked as though he had no injuries. Ignoring the eyes and a small hole in his throat, it could appear that nothing was wrong with him. I slipped on some underwear and shorts, then reconsidered his flimsy leg.

 _I need a way to straighten that…_

I raced to my garage and found three smooth lengths of wood. In the closet I dug out sports tape, then straightened out his leg on the floor. I set one stick under the leg then two at the sides, but at first wrapping the tape around was frustrating. The wood kept slipping down, yet eventually I secured them and wrapped all the way up his leg, using the entire roll.

The leg pointed out stiffly straight, unbendable and unable to turn. Even his ankle was barred from flopping. Now, ignoring his eyes and pale skin, it just looked like he had broken his leg. More comfortable I became as I thought about how else to clean him up. I ended up bending him over the counter and sink, and with the towel, I pried at his jaw. It opened too easily, startling me for a moment before I reached for a toothbrush.

 _What on earth am I doing?_ I questioned myself. _Britain never said this was necessary…_

And yet I brushed his teeth, his head sideways and toothpaste dripping right into the sink instead of down his throat. America did not even seem to know what was happening to him, although he gazed right at me. He did not care, but for some reason I did so powerfully. I wanted the remnants of his last meal gone, his mouth clean before I would lock him away.

Mindlessly, I rinsed his mouth, trickled mouthwash over his teeth, then rinsed again. Blood stopped flowing down the drain eventually and that was when I backed him away from the sink. Only to sit him down again, to fetch and apply deodorant.

After all was done, I stood him up. From here, face-to-face, he looked great. The clothes were clean, tidy, and without rips. Furthermore, his skin was pure, hair downy and untangled, and he even smelled like himself. I could not come up with any other way to improve him.

I tried again, full of even more false hope due to his appearance.

"America…"

Nothing. Not a breath, blink, or heartbeat. He just stood there with my support, looking at me. With a sigh, I tossed him back into my arms and headed to my living room. When I glimpsed my companion however, the small and soft polar bear curled up and deep asleep in a basket, I reconsidered putting him too close. I instead crept away to America's house.

America was set down upon his own couch. I balanced him upright then slipped back a few experimental steps. He did not fall over or turn toward me even when left alone. The only movement came from his eyes, which followed me of course.

I slunk back to the TV and turned it on, increasing the volume a tad and watching his reaction. America's eyes shifted from me to the noise and flashes of light. I backed away but he did not look over to me, so distracted he was by what played directly before him.

"You like the TV…" I whispered. "Don't you, America?"

I watched his face for a moment as he sat there with his back curved over the cushion. Very slowly, his jaw creaked open a crack. No attention was given to me, but chills ran down my back and I whipped away from the scene.

 _As fast as possible, I will find chains before he becomes too strong._

I locked the door from my side then rushed to find my wallet. Before I took off again though, I cleaned my phone, the door to the trunk, and steering wheel. My hands were as well washed once more before I jogged back to my car. And soon after shoving myself into it, I sped off to the nearest store where I was sure to find chains.

It was far more expensive than I had hoped, but I bought what seemed more than required for the job. The car flew back home, straight back into the garage, before I beelined to America. Bravery was required to unlock and throw open the door to America's side, but there I was surprised by no jumpscares. He was still sitting as I had left him, weak and with only his jaw ajar.

Because of the ruckus I had just made however, his attention was pulled back to me. I went petrified when not his eyes, but his head slowly turned to me. So rapidly he was regaining control over his body. There was no choice but for me to race over and claim him, taking him down into his basement where he would be far from me.

I carefully placed America's back was set against a thick wooden beam that stretched to the ceiling. Then, I wound the chain all around him so that America was bound securely to the wood, arms tight against his sides and legs splayed out in front. The seriously broken one stood out stiffly while his head creaked to the side to pursue my movements.

Using a heavy lock, I snapped the ends of the chain together then let it sit on America's chest. Now his entire torso was encased in silver, though he did not seem aware in the slightest of what had been done to him. After completing everything, I felt the need to murmur, "I'm sorry, America… This is the best for everyone…"

My footsteps stamped heavily on each stone step on the way up. One of my hooked, pale fingers flicked down the light, before the door was closed behind me. The lock was turned but even once left alone in safety, a sickening weight hung in my heart. I thought about how he had been left in the dark, staring at nothing. In the cold, in the silence, in possible agony with no one there for him.

Nevertheless, I performed as commanded and called Britain back. The phone quivered against my ear because of my affected hand. When the rings ended and he had picked up, I stated, "It's… done."

"He is chained up?"

"I did everything you said…"

"Good. Well done, Canada. You will be safe now."

Before he could continue, I interrupted, "Wait."

Britain sounded surprised. "Yes, what is it?"

"Is there any way I can help him more?" I asked. "Some way to… slow down the r-rot… I mean, to help him heal."

"I do not believe so."

"But what about, maybe… giving him some of my blood?"

Britain replied steadily, "There is no point to that. Extra blood would just sink, since his heart is not beating to circulate it. He would receive no oxygen in having it."

"And if I… do a better job at putting him together?"

"With the damage he has taken, I do not think it would make a difference. If anything is missing, broken, and just downright unmendable, then nothing will function."

I clutched the phone harder. "But what about his brain? Won't it try running whatever is attached? Won't that help in some way?"

It was hard to not become more stressed at Britain's hesitation.

"I am not sure…" he admitted. "But even if what you tried worked, it would not make much improvement. What will happen is inevitable."

My feeling of helplessness heightened, until tears sprang to my eyes and I cried, "But how does it work? I don't understand! Is his brain functionning or not? How can he heal himself without a heartbeat, without a brain? Tell me! Can't he think? Most of his wounds are in the lower body, so... so! Doesn't he see what is happening? I know he can see! That means then that his brain is working, doesn't it? "

I could hear his voice waver slightly as he tried to control it again.

"Canada... You must calm down. None of this matters. In fact, I forbid you to worry about it! Look here, nothing you do… _nothing_ \- will fix him! Please keep such ideas out of your mind. _I_ will fix him. And it will happen. Now just remember your job."

"B-but!" I interjected. "What if he can think? He can see, hear, and move- something has to be going on! I left the TV on and he started to-"

" _Canada_!"

I cowered at his snap. I was not used to such desperate aggression from Britain. Silence hung in the line until Britain murmured, "He is not himself anymore. Forget these ideas as well. Don't… do anything stupid, Canada. You must keep him locked up and away no matter what." His voice grew more grave. "Don't let him out. Promise me, that you will never let him out."

Trembling more now from his dark tone, I whispered, "I promise…"

"He might try to kill you," Britain sighed. "And I couldn't possibly bear to have this all happen to you too…"

"Um..."

"This condition of constant death…" Britain repeated, his sighed breath sounding so close, as though he was beside me. "It would be too hard if you were hurt too."

Not realizing the depth of his sorrow at first, I mumbled, "Because the ingredients are hard to find…"

"No, Canada. Because with America… then you… No. I don't want this to happen to you. I wouldn't even wish for this on an enemy."

I fell quiet in my astoundment. Because of how calm Britain had been on our earlier phone call, I had mistaken it for a lack of emotion. But now the fight heard in his voice to stay relaxed for my sake was clear. Even if he knew exactly how to proceed, that all was curable, he was suffering as dearly as I was.

"I'm sorry…" I whispered. There was nothing else I could think of to say.

Britain exhaled, "You cannot be sorry, Canada. None of this was your fault. It was America's idiocy again, I know it. There is absolutely no blame for you to take. Unfortunately, it is us who will have to pay for America's actions."

My heart cracked slightly and I bowed my head. I remembered the feeling of America's grip on my forearm suddenly, the desperate twisting and pulling on my skin. His screams for me to not let go rang in my mind, leaving me haunted and quaking.

 _But I couldn't hold on to him, Britain._

"So…" Britain continued. "We need to get started on your appearance. Of course, you will need get a prescription for coloured contacts as soon as you can. And while your hair is a good colour, it will have to be cut. Let's get started on this. Could you skype with me for this step?"

"Alright…"

I hung up then hurried over to start up my laptop. I collected a pair of thin, silver scissors then carried everything up to the bathroom. In order to see better for the job I was about to do, I put on my glasses as well. Only then did I call Britain on the computer, who soon answered it.

The camera was turned and I could see in the corner how my face nearly filled his screen. Before I could even think of what to say, Britain told me, "Take up a picture of him and look at him while you do this."

I leaned forward and closed down Skype, searching on the internet for a good picture that America had posted of himself. As I found one, Britain asked if the camera could be turned toward the mirror. I followed his instructions for positioning until Britain was able to see what I would be doing.

Looking at my reflection at first, especially with the glasses, I looked as Canada as I possibly could. Everything that distinguished me was there, except for the peaceful smile. Now though, I compared myself to America and thought about everything that would have to go. The smallest differences that would have to be mended in order to erase my image.

I noticed now things I had never really thought about. Like how my hair was looser and a bit longer than America's. Very carefully, I went on and clipped piece by piece while Britain watched silently. I paused sometimes but he never disrupted me. Then finally, once I had fixed the sides, I targeted a long hair curl. It was snipped off quickly, but I watched the long strand fall into the sink before trimming my bangs.

Regarding myself in the mirror became even more strange now that the mark some people had used to recognize me was gone. My face felt as well, so much more exposed than before. I became more uncomfortable with my success, which Britain noticed and had to encourage me on.

"You're doing great, Canada. Keep going."

I slid open a drawer and found a scarcely used container of hair gel. I used it to press my hair to the side against its natural way, in order to match America's crease. I squeezed one lock of hair up and curled it back, to make sure I had that one unruly curl that he always had.

Britain exhaled. I instantly became worried that I had not done a good job, but then he said, "Put on some of his clothes and his glasses."

"But then I have to… go to his side."

"Did you not say he was locked in the basement in chains?" A worried and accusative tone infected his voice.

I admitted, "I am just worried about getting so close… After what you said and because he has already started to move. But I guess it'll be alright. I'll be right back…"

I rushed away but skidded to a stop by the door. With a sigh, I unlocked it then slipped inside the star-spangled living room. All was tranquil and on the surface; there seemed to be nothing amiss with this house. I was not disturbed while I selected an outfit from his room, though chills shook me as I imagined what really lay below this serenity. Before skittering away, I grabbed the case for his glasses which he had left in safety by his bed.

I changed and exchanged glasses before I came back to the bathroom. Britain must have heard me coming because he began to speak again, "You're going to have to take over America's duties, you know. You have to go into his home to answer calls, sign papers, and whatever else. You can't hide away in your house forever."

I swallowed before placing myself in front of the mirror for both of us to judge. Promptly my eyebrows flew up my face and I heard Britain inhale sharply. What regarded us in the mirror was a perfect copy of America, but one with purple eyes and a stressed expression.

"Can you see my gel?" I asked worriedly.

"No, no…" Britain trailed off in shocked awe, before affirming, "This is wonderful."

I looked at the remaining picture of America in the corner and compared it to my face. The similarity shocked me and my heart skipped, as for almost a moment I thought it was him there. My eyes then flashed back and forth between me and the image, until tears welled up and my lower lip quivered.

"Canada, look at me."

My hand fidgeted but managed to get Britain's face back on screen. I knew I was meant to turn the computer and talk to him, but I was stuck facing the mirror. We both were forced to watch my reflection as rapidly, I crumbled. When the first tears broke free, I gently placed both my hands over my face so that I would no longer have to see myself.

With my wet face hidden, I felt safe enough to continue. Now the tears poured out without end and slipped past my fingers. I started to twitch and sniff although Britain's words of comfort were recognized in the background. My feet ended up falling back, until they touched the solidity of the bathtub and I sat down heavily onto its wet edge.

I interrupted Britain's soothing voice, coughing out, "I can't do this, I can't! I-I could never b-be him… I don't want to be him! I w-want him to be him… I just want him back, I just- I want…"

"Canada," he murmured, and once I had trailed off I started to really hear him. "I'm booking my plane ticket right now. I will be coming over to see you, alright now? I will help you."

But then I fell apart again, my body falling forward as I disagreed, "You c-can't help me… I can't do this. I can't bear this!"

"I believe in you," he continued in a whisper. "I really do, Canada. There is power and energy within you that will give you all you need to do this. For his sake you will try your best, and with practice it will become easier. This job will suit you since so many believed you to be America even before you modified your appearance. Your voices are similar, so you only need to be loud and incorporate more slang. I'd say you would only have to worry if you were me, trying to pull this off!"

I dropped my hands and let my puffy eyes gaze down at the floor.

"I'm coming over to see you. Everything will be alright. I'll help you practice, but this you can get started on yourself. Try talking to yourself using the words he would use, and work on raising your voice."

"I'll have to sound cocky about everything," I sniffed.

"That's the spirit, Canada."

I reached over to the toilet paper and blew my nose as quietly as I could. I dried my cheeks and turned the laptop so that Britain would not see my pink face as I washed my hands. He was forced to watch over the toilet as I looked back at myself in the mirror.

"How long will you stay?" I asked quietly.

"As long as you need," Britain answered me gently. "And whenever you need me, I will come back."

"You cannot stay until it is over?"

"No… I have to keep up appearances, do my work, and look for ingredients here. There are some locations I will check out, which I marked out on a map long ago."

I exhaled some of the weight out of my chest. "You keep saying ingredients, but what do you need? Is there anything… that I could find?"

"I need special kinds of plants," Britain murmured. "Some _you_ cannot see, and some that are hard to get near because they affect your mind. They make you want to wander another way or they can make you see them as normal species. They exist in your country, but you cannot find them because you lack experience."

"Oh…"

"And once I find them, they cannot be transplanted. They're awfully frightened of people, coming up through the earth then burrowing down into it. I record where they are, but often they have moved away a few decades later. It can be a pain finding them and especially when trying to collect different species."

I asked, "Why don't you keep extra then… of the potion I mean?"

"Because after they are picked, the effects they have do not last long after. Like with regular flowers in a vase, they will wilt and die eventually."

"But I thought you said you would have normally had extra?"

Britain replied, "No. I said I wish I _could_ have had extra. If it were possible. Otherwise, there would always have been a few stocked in my cabinet ever since the first accident."

"I see…"

I sighed. I wished it could have been simpler, since I _had_ heard of other creations Britain had created. _This must be a much more complicated project then. But I know he is doing his best, so I have to be patient and do my best too. His task sounds harder than mine anyways…_

"Do you have any more questions?" he asked. "If not, we'll part ways and get started."

I looked down into the sink where there were still traces of my cut hair.

"Nothing else right now," I breathed. "I can just message you though, right?"

"Yes, yes… Of course," Britain said. "I might be out for long periods of time, but I will get back to you as soon as I can. Now then, if you don't have any questions… go and rest yourself a while. Yes, better that you clean yourself up, sit down, and have a proper meal for your well-being. I'll go out though and start looking."

 _Eat?_

I had forgotten what food even was. It did not appeal to me at all right now, although what he had said was logical. I was not sure if I could bring myself to stomach something after all I had seen, but lying down clean and among blankets was an attractive idea.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"I will see you soon, Canada. Goodbye now."

"Goodbye…"

I felt utterly disconnected once the call ended. I turned the computer back to me and folded it shut, all my movements slowing as I felt so alone. I knew though, that I would feel better once Britain was here to comfort me. Until then, I needed to find my own coping methods.

I tried to relish the warmth of the shower's water over me, which did help me with my shaking. Feeling scrubbed from head-to-toe also made the memories of the mountain seem ever the more distant. When I went to brush my teeth, I remembered though that I had mindlessly used my toothbrush on America.

 _A corpse_.

I twitched and tossed it into the trash with two fingers. In a drawer I took out an unopened package and popped out a new toothbrush. When I was done in here, I dumped America's clothes into my dirty laundry, set his glasses to the side, and slipped into pyjamas. It was not nighttime yet, but it just felt appropriate when all I wanted to do was lie amongst the pillows and pretend that the only world for me was the comfort of the bed.

The laptop sat alone on the nightstand as I hid myself under blankets and grabbed at all the pillows. I squeezed whatever I could while the light was blocked out, blankets consuming me until they were all I could see. All alone here too however, I struggled to not think about what was in the neighboring basement. It therefore became impossible to give in to the warmth.

Eventually I thought about everything that had happened, from the fall to Britain's chilling words, and all such things that I did not understand. Undoubtedly, I was more frightened than sad. Suddenly, I began trying to understand what was happening and just _how_ America was not dead. It was just as difficult to accept that special flowers could fix him, flowers with abilities beyond the natural world. My mind whirled and when it grew too tired, all I could think about were the facts.

America would rot. He would get stronger and more aggressive. I would be wearing a mask and lying to the world while a monster resided in my basement, trying to get to me. He would no longer be my brother then. Even now, I had to accept that he was gone.

" _Poor America_ ," I mewled into a pillow. Tears escaping freely again, I clenched it tighter and crammed it against my chest. Very soon I lost my words and cried into the pillow, burying my face into it and sobbing louder and louder. The blankets rocked with my heaves until a weight sunk in beside me.

I was startled at first, but then a paw prodded my back. I could feel the hesitation of it, its worry. I spun around and saw Kumajiro crouching there, black eyes gleaming as he wondered what was wrong with me. Without giving an explanation, I lunged and hugged him, drawing him in and crying into his fur.

I felt his chin touch down upon my shoulder after a moment, and there we stayed until I regained control of my breathing. But even still I cried, holding and nuzzling into him for a long while still. Knowing that I needed to remain here, he lay down sideways over me. Now, I wrapped my arms around him while he relaxed and nosed my jaw.

So finally, here in the comfort and warmth, I made a consoling realization. I looked into white fur, squeezed tighter, and thought, _I guess I'm not as alone as I thought…_

Thanks to his presence and comforting whimpers, I was finally able to lie still. My nose was stuffed but through my parted mouth, I breathed deep and slow breaths. My body relaxed even more, as I continued to pet Kumajiro to sleep on me. And then, when I saw his soft, slumbering expression, I was filled with such tenderness.

It was in the moment I forgot about America, when I collapsed from sheer exhaustion and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

I shot up awake with a cry. After hours of peaceful sleep, all dreaming was interrupted with a single memory that thrust me into consciousness. An image filled the screen I saw, engulfing my dream of sledding. Even with my eyes snapped open, it was all I could see as I tumbled out of the bed.

Kumajiro's weight disappeared and a tangle of blankets followed to drop down upon me. I flailed on the floor to escape, scratching and kicking madly. When freed, I sprinted to the bathroom and collapsed before the toilet. Just in time, for vomit poured out of me and my swollen abdomen grew thin.

By the time it was over, I felt absolutely frail. I fell back, shivering and feeling cold tears of pain in the corners of my eyes. I then bent forward and flushed away the colours. When I stood up though, my wobbly legs brought me falling into the sink. There, I quickly rinsed out my mouth and swished it with mouthwash. The foul taste disappeared and my vision changed into black every few seconds, until I grew strong enough to think again.

The memory of America's body when I had found him returned. I instantly fell over the toilet again, but retched as much as I could, nothing else was there to come out. I rose again and felt how terribly hungry I was, after all the meals I had missed. Weakly, I washed my hands then stumbled out into the hall.

 _It was not a dream._ _I know it all happened._

But I trudged along anyway, right to the inside door to America's house. I unlocked it then grabbed the knob to open it, but then felt a broad nose touch my leg. Kumajiro was pushed back gently as I murmured, "Stay here, please."

I slid through the door and kept him on my side. The walk to the basement door sent my heart into an agonizing flutter, for too fast were the beats for my body to handle. Yet I arrived, unlocking and flicking on the light switch. The stairs into the cold room appeared suddenly to silently menace me.

My body refused to move quickly. I took the steps one at a time until halfway down, when a deep-throated moan erupted and echoed off the stone. I yipped and threw myself against the wall. Stuck there like glue, I quaked and bared my teeth in fear. More moans pursued, rising in volume as though coming closer. Before seeing anything, I snapped away and slammed the door to the basement.

With one desperate and precise movement, I locked the door. I fell back sitting and gasping raspy breaths. The door was fixed with a horrified stare, but I waited and no bangs came at the door. I had not been followed. Longer I waited, until I crept forward and pressed my ear against the door.

Far down there, I could hear the moans faintly. I listened for a while, trying to calm down in my safe position. Now I could tell that the sounds were not moving, but coming from a fixed spot. He was chained; America wasn't going anywhere. Trembling terribly, I reached for the lock but fell back down. I was much too weak and frightened to confront this.

I left America's home and greeted Kumajiro at the door. Before I could go anywhere else, I hugged him tightly. After this, I entered the kitchen ravenous and swaying. I grabbed and did not prepare, taking even items not commonly labelled as breakfast foods. In conclusion, I sat down and chugged from a chocolate milk carton, feeling a comfortable weight settle back into my stomach.

Kumajiro had followed me back. Seeing me in a more stable state, he asked in his high-pitched voice, "What's wrong?"

I never considered lying to him, although I had no inclination to explain the details. Swallowing the lump in my throat however, I whispered, "America is sick."

It was all I could handle to say about the subject. Kumajiro persisted, so curious he was, inquiring, "Why? What happened?"

I was silent for a moment, trying to bring the carton back to my lips before giving up and lowering my trembling hand. I sat in turmoil as Kumajiro poked his paw into my side.

"What happened? How bad is it?"

"Not right now, Kumojanga."

My unusual mood put an end to his questions. He sat beside me quietly as I forced myself to drink more. In the end, I could not finish it. The chocolate milk found its way back into the fridge and I tried to figure out what I would do next with my life.

 _Any minute someone could call, asking for America. I better start practicing…_

But I imagined how my awkward and shaky attempts to mimic him would sound in the air. Discouraged, I sat on my couch and thought about how different I was to him in personality.

 _He has a certain spark of energy that I cannot match. A disregard for other people, inconsiderate, sometimes discriminating and rude to other countries…_ I shook my head. _He mixes up stereotypes and reality, can seem like he's searching for a fight. Cocky, acts like he is always winning even after mistakes. Somehow he can brush anything off with that laugh of his._

Then I became shocked with myself over how well I understood his way of speaking.

 _Right, what is he? He says all the things I would never say. Loud when I am quiet, rude when I am polite- haughty when I would be apologizing. So if I go against my instincts and do the opposite, could I not get it perfect?_

Yet my words got stuck in my throat. I hesitated and closed my mouth as I thought about all that I had said to Britain. I still did not want to do this. It felt entirely wrong, taking over as America while he was in his gruesome state. Even thinking about calling out a _dude_ or a _yo_ sickened me to the core. I thought about the original speaker of these words and a rotting mouth now wordless.

I decided then that what I needed was some time out of the house. After getting ready, I departed to try to get the coloured contacts Britain had asked me to get. The best I could do however, was book an upcoming appointment with my optometrist. Only then I could get contact lenses fitted to my vision needs with the required prescription.

My time was spent in the local market before I wandered around the mall, looking around but not buying anything. It was much easier to clear my mind now that America was so distant, thus I focused on assuring myself that everything would be okay in the end.

 _It's not like he's gone forever. That would be something I could really grieve over. It is really much better to think of it as Britain suggested, that he is unwell and alive without a heartbeat. America is not dead because he is healing and reacting to his environment..._

On the way back home, I continued convincing myself that America was only injured and sick. It was a difficult effort when I considered how Britain said that he would eventually try to attack me. _Delusional_ , I decided to deem it. Some people hallucinated or did illogical things when ill.

 _But why was America moaning?_ I suddenly mused. _I know zombies do that in movies, but what for? Just for a horror effect I guess, but this isn't a movie. There has to be a reason. Was he trying to talk? Is he in pain?_

So when I returned, I went straight to the basement door with a shovel and the most open mind I could force. The moans trickled out and I paused, shook myself, then proceeded downwards to the bottom step. In the dim light, America sat chained securely against the wooden beam with his head swiveled towards me. Clouded eyes that did not seem like they could focus well locked upon me, but the mouth closed partially and the moans lowered in volume.

I set the shovel to the side. I approached him, sniffing at the air and surprised that it did not smell as bad as I thought it would. Not enough time had passed I supposed, but closer I could see that he looked stranger. He was more swollen and discoloured, some parts pale and others dark. It was the worst around his legs, where the blood had settled. There was also a sort of stiffness to him that I suddenly remembered the term for.

 _Rigor mortis._

And yet he could move somehow, which was beyond me. I stepped to the sides and America followed every movement, although slowly and with what seemed like effort. I stopped and twitched, looking away for a few seconds to try and forget all that I had seen. Whispered moans continued until I was disturbed enough to check on him, where I noticed a darkness around America. A sort of puddle of foul substances that I dared not to touch.

"Oh god…" I gulped. _Had it been this bad for Britain as well?_

Just like that, all my efforts to clean him had been in vain. Now he looked even less like my America, and although expected, seeing what he had become was quite a difference from imagining it in my mind. Everything I had eaten felt sour and I only survived by glancing away from him.

From my lack of action however, the moans increased in volume until I was startled to attention.

"What is it?" I cried. "Why do you keep moaning?"

His mouth stayed parted, teeth touching together as he continued.

"You must be in so much pain…" I whimpered. "And although I don't understand how you would feel it... No, I don't understand this at all. But parts of you must be working."

" _Neyehhh_ …"

Now I felt an aching in my chest from my helplessness. I noticed the tears about to come as I whispered, "But there's nothing I can do. Only Britain can save you. I'm just supposed to keep you down here and pretend to be you…"

Then I remembered how America had gone quieter after seeing me for a few moments. He had only gotten louder the longer I stood without doing anything. So quietly, I asked, "When you saw me, you were quieter… does this mean…?"

I chose to approach him, eyeing up the puddle over the floor and avoiding it. The moans softened again and when I was two metres away from the chains, they became shorter. More like whimpers.

"Is... there something you want from me?"

" _Khaaarghh_ …"

I blinked. "Are you trying to speak?"

" _Neahhhaaa_ …"

I fidgeted for an answer. "If you can hear me, can you show me? Could you blink? _Can_ you blink?"

I watched his pasty face intently until his eyelids dropped then reopened. A gasp shot out from me and I yipped, "America!"

With a small skip, I landed closer and shivered with the fast beats of my heart. I squeezed my fists tight and took in quick breaths to try and contain myself. When calm enough to continue, I smiled broadly and came closer.

"America," I mumbled, reaching out and touching his hair. I leaned over the puddle as the softest of moans came from his parted lips.

All went silent though, the moment I touched him. Shocked, I lifted my hand and looked into his eyes which were turned up to me. I hesitantly went on, stroking back over his crown. He made no sudden movements so I became more comfortable, relishing the discovery and murmuring his name constantly.

After a time however, he began to moan again faintly.

" _Khahh_ …"

"It's okay, America." I stroked his temple, testing how far down I could go. Even when I softly lay my fingertips on his cheekbone, he did not snap at me.

" _Khaah- k-khah…_ "

My eyes widened. "Are you trying to say my name?"

" _N-nah_."

More excited I became, realizing just how ecstatic I was since although Britain had never thought this possible, he was wrong.

" _Daaaahhhrgh_."

"Oh America!" I caught his face and stared into his hazy eyes. "Britain was wrong! I knew it- your brain is working… So what else could he be wrong about? Britain's only dealt with this once and it was a different case-"

I nearly captured him into a hug but then I considered his decaying state.

"Okay, okay… Since you can hear me, then I'll let you know what's going on. You're probably confused about why you're here and what happened to you… Do you remember?"

" _Hurrghhh…_ "

I did not know how to interpret that so I went on. It quickly became a rant entailing how I had found him and fixed him up, everything Britain had told me including his first experience, and exactly why America was in chains.

"But I don't think you will attack me," I assured him. "You can think, can't you? You're different than the last one. But… I'm still going to keep you down here just in case… I hope you understand?"

" _Khanaaahh…_ "

"But I'll do what I can!" I scrambled. "I can bring down the TV for you so that you won't get bored. I'll visit you and tell you what's going on… How about this, America?"

I pet him and he went quiet again. Very slowly, his eyes fell closed and I felt more at peace.

"Everything will be alright," I repeated the words Britain had told me. Then, I whispered, "I'll get the TV for you right now."

America used to have one down here before, so there was a good spot for the smaller one I lugged down from his room. I placed it on a stand then began setting it up. Whenever I checked back, America was always watching me though it did not feel nearly as creepy anymore. The idea that he was really just sick was much easier to accept now when he was aware of the world.

Light and noise erupted into the room. I changed the channel until I found Fox News, then I stepped away from the TV. America watched me for a moment before focusing on the screen on a diagonal to him. A smile shaking from pure elation held my lips. I said, "There, this will entertain you, won't it?"

He had stopped making his sounds. My smile grew more powerful as I backed off towards the stairs.

"I'll see you later then! I-I have to tell Britain the good news!"

America did not respond, but I hadn't been hoping too much on it. I scampered back up the steps and this time, I left the light on for him though I still locked the door. I imagined Britain nagging me if I didn't follow all of his instructions despite the fresh information I had for him.

I was confounded when no answer came when I called Britain, until I remembered that he had said he might be out for long periods of time. Compromising, I took out my laptop and began writing a lengthy message to him that described all the details. Hoping he would respond very soon, I sent it then leaned back with my heart fluttering in excitement.

 _This is so much better than I imagined!_ A wave of relief fell over me. _America's conscious of what's going on and now he won't feel so bad. I can hang out with him, tell him what I'm doing, how far along we are to curing him- now it's much more like he isn't dead. It feels like he's alive!_

I remembered suddenly, that I had left a shovel down there and had taken it for a reason.

 _But with the way he is, there's no way he would attack me..._

"I think I could explain to him that it wouldn't work," I murmured. "Taking parts of me won't heal him. He'll understand that, then stop… Britain's last case had no chance of that."

Kumajiro sauntered over, sniffing the air. He pressed his nose into my pants then stuffed it into my relaxed palm. Tickled, I jerked away but then looked down and took a whiff of my shirt. It wasn't so bad, but I might have gotten desensitized to it in my excitement. I decided to take a shower and change my clothes, then give the couch and area a spray of Febreze just in case.

 _I'll have to clean up after every time I see him_.

Lunch came next and it was much easier to eat with this bundle of good news. Instead of waiting months, it felt like I had him back now. I ate much more at the table while the laptop stayed open in anticipation of Britain's response. When nothing came however, I just went on to my emails and spent my motivation upon the work I still had to keep up with.

So it wasn't until much later, when Britain responded. Instead of writing a long message back to me however, he had said only, _Ring me back as soon as possible._

Naturally I dropped everything and grabbed my cellphone. He was equally fast picking up, thus I had him on the line just as I was sitting myself back down on the couch. Without any greetings, Britain breathed, "This did _not_ happen before… I don't believe it!"

"He knows it was me," I repeated gently. "He tried to say my name and he went quiet when I started petting him. He likes the TV too, just like I told you. He _knows_ what's going on. I told him to blink if he understands me, which he did- and he doesn't blink at all otherwise!"

Britain murmured, "I know you said his head was hardly affected, but still… the fact that he is so functional despite the lack of oxygen…"

"It doesn't make sense," I agreed. "Although… him moving despite rigor mortis…"

"Exactly, it doesn't make sense. But all things considered, our very existence on its own doesn't make sense. We aren't like normal people, after all. We grow and heal oddly, resisting the aging process at a certain point and living far beyond when we should. On a daily basis, we deny death."

"I've always wondered…" I sighed. "But none of us understand why. You don't know either, right?"

"No, not yet. Although America… It only makes sense that he is like this because his head was not injured so terribly and he is quite powerful. Much more powerful than my last case, which was long enough ago that no one quite had the strength held by some of us now."

I paused to let this mystery settle into my bones as something to return to my thoughts later. For now I continued, "About America… do you still think he is dangerous?"

"I am not sure, to be honest, if we should consider him more or less dangerous than before."

"Why more dangerous?"

"I no longer know how he will attempt to heal himself," Britain replied. "America has become a rather unpredictable case… In our doubt, we must proceed with absolute caution. That being said, Canada, that no matter what he says or does, you do _not_ let him free."

"I know… I know…" I said. "I've left him in chains and behind locked doors."

"Good. Be smart and don't be too sympathizing. He may have his telly but he will have it _downstairs_."

"I understand… though is it alright if I visit him and talk to him?"

"I suppose so, but keep an eye on his strength and aggression. If he looks less interested in what you're saying and more occupied with breaking free, stop coming down. Seeing you might be all the motivation he needs to break the chains."

" _Break_ the chains?"

"Perhaps. I'd much prefer it if you assumed the worst and were ready for it. So if there are any changes, you must stop seeing him. Leave him alone until I cure him."

A disheartened confirmation sounded in my throat.

"While we are speaking," he went on, "I should tell you that today has gone well. I located one of the plants in the spot I had marked on the map."

I perked up. "That's great!"

"It's coming along, so nothing to worry about. And you will obtain your contacts soon as well, very good. As for your practicing, have you started it?"

"Oh, not yet…"

"Best to get going before too many begin wondering why America isn't answering any calls or messages."

"Yeah… I'll start practicing after this call," I decided. "I wanted to before… but now, I think I can do it. I feel a lot better now."

"Excellent. In that case, I would like to let you go now."

"Okay."

"Stay safe, Canada," he gently warned me again.

"I will."

"Goodbye now."

"Bye…"

* * *

There were plenty of videos of America on the internet, which I studied to figure out his speech pattern. On a notepad I recorded the words he frequently used with instructions on how he used them. I also wrote what I would have said with translations into America's way of speaking. Some of my vocabulary was strictly forbidden however while some of his was completely beyond mine, obscene and disturbing to most ears.

" _Hey, what's up_?" I whispered, not quite confident enough to go full out. " _What're you even doing? Wow dude, you're such a loser_ …"

The words felt utterly wrong on my tongue.

" _Yo, Brit-tayn!_ "

I felt a blush growing on my face, so absolutely embarrassed I felt in saying things I considered ridiculous. But I decided to dive into it and say all the most absurd things I had heard him say.

" _Bork, bork, bork_! Um… _commie bastard_! _Ching-chang-chong_! Let's see… _Make America great again_!"

When I saw Kumajiro giving me strange looks, I apologized and explained, "I have to pretend to be America while he's sick."

It seemed he knew who that was more than who I was. He understood, but I now felt under pressure here. With that I grabbed my computer and ended up on America's side, trying now to read the lyrics to his national anthem.

Louder and louder I practiced it, feeling the rumbles in my throat that weren't there when I spoke normally. This, I realized, could be how I kept myself in check. If ever conversing with someone else, I would make sure my throat felt this strain.

" _And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air_!"

Singing through this repetively made me miss the calmer, bilingual version of my national anthem.

" _Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there_!"

Especially with this line, I gave a mental sigh. I thought he was putting way too much praise into these things. Of course though, I would have to pretend I liked it. So I sang with even more gusto. I remained practicing this song on the unlikely chance that someone would ask me to sing it, right until I memorized it.

I went to the bathroom mirror and watched myself pinch the curl of hair up with the help of a smidge of hair gel. When I looked just like America, I broadened my chest and threw myself into the song. After only a few lines did I realize just how much easier it was when it did not seem like me singing in the mirror.

Once finished, I sighed. I wondered, _Should I visit him so soon and show him? I've already showered but… I would love to make him smile- if he can anyway._

"Alright!" I exclaimed. "Let's do it- erm, _dude_!"

I skipped to the basement door, unlocked it, then hurried down the stairs. The only sounds down here came from the excitement of the TV; America sat in absolute silence until I came into sight. Then, I saw him rotate his head slowly and emit an inquisitive gurgle.

" _Hrkhan_?"

It sounded close to _Can_. My heart felt eased by the attempt and I hardly noticed the odor of initial rot.

"I want to do something for you," I told him with a small smile. "I hope you enjoy it."

I lowered the volume of the TV then planted myself in front of him, just out of reach of the mystery puddle. I remembered the stance America had assumed on the mountain, and I copied that confident pose. In my mind I pictured my appearance to think as myself as America. Then, I bellowed out the lyrics to the American national anthem in tune.

So quickly, although done slowly, a smile lifted upon his ripped face. The pale skin wrinkled and white teeth shone at me although there was no gleam of joy in his dull eyes. My confidence soared and I sang louder as his smile stayed locked. It never disappeared, but was stiffly there until I was finished. Then, a wispy chortle blew through his teeth and when I realized it was laughter, I wasn't sure if it was because I was bad or perfect.

I calmed down and asked quietly, "Was that bad?"

" _Nnnergh_."

"Really?" My eyes widened. "So do you think I can make people believe that I am you?"

" _Yeeaghh_."

I smiled. "I hope you don't mind though… Is this weird to you? Well, maybe it isn't so weird considering…"

I did not mention it, but immediately regretted even hinting at it. America had slowly stopped smiling but I had no idea if he was sorrowful based on his expression.

"So you really aren't in pain?" I wanted to clarify.

" _Nyahh_."

I sighed away some of my grief. "That's great to hear. I wouldn't have known what to do for you…"

" _Kaaaan_."

"Yes?"

" _Syeeeh_."

"Huh? What's that?"

" _Seee_."

My eyebrows wrinkled and I began to grimace as I understood. "You… want to see yourself?"

" _Yeeas_."

"I… don't think that is a good idea," I whispered. "I told you what I did… How you are. I'm trying not to think too much about it, but it hurts me to see you like this. I don't want you to feel any worse."

" _Seee_."

I could see and hear the strain as he tried to voice every word. America was trying to be brief with everything he wanted to convey.

"No… It won't be cool or anything… Please. Can't you just listen to me for once?"

" _See_."

"I don't even want to take any pictures," I murmured. "I really don't want you to know. It would have haunted me, to be in your position."

America's voice became more taut.

" _Aieee warghnt syeee eet_."

Now his lack of expression to match his voice drove me into anxiety. It felt that he was more desperate to see himself than it seemed. I crumbled into obedience, exhaling, "Okay then… If you think you can handle it."

I went upstairs and brought back a hand mirror. I kept it turned away from him and pinned against my chest as I pressed, "But are you _sure_?"

" _Khoome_."

His head jerked as he tried to voice the right sounds for the word. On the inside I jolted at his sudden movement, but forgot it as I imagined what he had truly wanted to say.

 _Come on dude, just do it already!_

So I flipped the mirror. I peeked down at his reflection staring back at himself with dead eyes. Instantly he fell still and quiet while news reporters murmured in the background on TV. I scanned for shock, but found none. His eyes revealed nothing and I knew he had difficulty moving himself anyway. America's emotions were nearly impossible to determine.

But then, after he had taken a good look, his lips pulled back into another smile.

" _Khuuuhll_."

I gawked before I released a chuckle wobbling with relief. "Cool? Seriously, America?" I lowered the mirror. "You're so typical...!"

" _Muuviee_."

"Like a movie…" I let out one laugh. "Yeah, I guess. It's like you're wearing make-up for World War Z."

I wanted to entertain this idea more. It was lighter for my heart.

"You've got the voice down too- all the moans and everything!"

America kept on smiling. A moment of silence fell between us until I could gather together my thoughts from experiencing everything that had just happened.

I sighed, "I bet you'll be glad to not have to do any work, eh?"

Naturally, he kept smiling.

"Get to sit around and just watch TV until we cure you?"

America let out breathy laughter again.

"While I do everything for you and trick the world into believing that I'm you!"

He looked as entertained as he could be.

"I won't let you get away with doing nothing," I chuckled. "You can help me sound like you, right? Give me all your worst insults and tell me when I'm doing it wrong?"

America dipped his head down then up. " _Yiies_."

I clasped my hands together and beamed. I could no longer smell anything here at all in my overwhelming glee, and already I was forgetting about all I had done to fix America. It just seemed like him and me again, and I chuckled at the memory of how frightened I had been of him this morning.

"I missed you," I went quieter and tilted my head. "I thought I wasn't going to have you back for months… but now you'll be here with me through this."

" _Kaaan_."

Hardly caring anymore, I stepped into the puddle and wrapped my arms around whatever part of America that was not encased in chains. He did not bite me. Although cold to the touch and beginning to smell, he only pressed his cheek into me to return the embrace.

The moan was no longer eerie even when out of sight and by my ear.

" _Thaankhyeouu_."

"Anything for my brother," I whispered.

When I let go of him, I scavenged for a chair. After finding one in the corner, I carried it back over and set it down. I immediately sat down upon it and stayed fastened there like a magnet. Then, I took it upon myself to clear away the rueful mood hanging in the air.

Summoning back my excited energy, I chirped, "Alright then, let's get started!"

And even when constantly dying, America's smile back to me retained its charm.


	4. Chapter 4

I would have vainly searched for a paper of America's passwords, but with patience and effort I got him to tell me them. I felt fortunate as I wrote each one down, although it took minutes to get them just right. Once I had all of his main passwords, it was by far time for dinner. I reluctantly left him, arriving home with a putrid smell that Kumajiro rubbed his nose at.

I sprayed the air but would not shower and change yet. Since some time had passed, I wanted to sit with America and take a look at his emails. This was the perfect opportunity to practice, so after writing my responses I read them out loud while he would gurgle a yes or a no to what I said. Truly, I was thankful he was here for me. I felt embarrassed to think of how badly I could have messed up my task if it weren't for his help.

After I had just sent off something to his boss, I worriedly asked, "Will it be hard fooling your boss in person?"

" _Nyeeat aall_."

"Alright, that's good…" I sighed. "But what if he comes here and finds out about you?"

" _Nawt here_."

"What do you mean, not here? He doesn't come to the house, or do you mean he doesn't go into the basement?"

" _B-base_ …"

"Okay then. But I'll have to use a lot of cleaners just because, well... you smell pretty bad."

He didn't seem offended. Rather, I assumed that he was proud or humored by this just as he had been with his appearance.

After I had finished all of his work, I tackled my own. It was with the check of my social media, that I noticed that Britain had sent me a message. I raced to read it and after my eyebrows had lifted, I summarized it all for America.

"Britain says he's having trouble sleeping after I told him you were functional. I guess he doesn't fully believe me… Anyway, he wants to see you, America."

The sound he made seemed affirmative, so I agreed to hold a video chat with Britain. I rotated the laptop toward America then went and crouched near him. On the screen I could see us both before Britain appeared. It was rather unsettling seeing America there beside me though, like a jumpscare in the reflection in a movie.

Worse it was of course, for Britain. He had only heard about America, so upon glimpsing the corpse beside me, he gasped sharply. I was not sure how well America could see, but I noted the pure terror that was ignited on Britain's face. His mouth flashed open as though on the verge of calling out a warning to me, and he jolted like he needed to flee.

I realized so quickly that Britain had handled the last case differently than what I had previously imagined. He had been afraid back then too. Britain relaxed when nothing happened, but I imagined his rapid heartbeat as he tried to remember the current situation.

When Britain was not the first to send a greeting, America rasped, " _Britt_."

Now Britain blinked briskly and leaned closer to the camera.

"Am- _America_?"

I stayed quiet, already feeling invisible as the other two focused on each other.

" _Yho_."

"I cannot believe it!" His joy broke through his usually collected behavior. "America- you're _here_! I-I never thought that you would have been able to recover so much but… You're back already."

" _S'prize_?"

"Am I surprised?" Britain's eyes lit up and he chuckled lightly. "That hardly begins to describe it- I'm completely gobsmacked! But I'm certainly glad you are okay, all things considered. Let's just hope it stays this way."

" _Whrat_?"

"As you know…" In a flash, his excitement was tamed and Britain looked down. "You are probably to rot further. Until I provide you with the Regeneration Potion, you are likely to become more violent."

I interjected, "Britain, we aren't _so_ sure… considering the situation."

"Just let it be known, both of you, that this may not last." Britain looked directly at America. "And you, don't expect Canada to let you out because he will not. No one can predict anything so please let him stay safe."

" _Aie know_ …" And even in a thin and low moan, his exasperation was known.

"Alright then, and I'll be departing later tomor… today now I suppose. It's getting awfully late, but I'm very glad to have seen how well you are doing. Well, goodnight now." Britain looked at America with remorse and happiness, a mix that seemed to pain him. "See you soon."

He ended the call and I checked the time again, considering when I would go to bed myself. First though, I addressed America, wondering how he was taking the warning.

"You have to tell me right away when you feel weird," I advised him. "If it gets harder to think, if you start wanting to pull off my skin…"

" _Mmm_ …" he acknowledged me, with his eyes shifting over degree-by-degree.

"Maybe I should drill it into you… that taking things from me will not help you. It won't connect and you won't go back to normal without the cure."

" _Baut aie know_ …"

"But if it gets hard for you to think!" I repeated. "It might not be obvious then, so we got to make it stick! You don't want to hurt anyone, do you?"

Of course he didn't, so I continued without waiting for a response.

"Look, I know you've got chains… but I don't know how strong you'll get. I might have to buy more and more chains until we get the potion. If you hurt someone or- or _kill_ someone, it will make everything so much more difficult for Britain. Then there might only be enough ingredients to just cure one and the whole thing will start again. Or worse, we get out and Britain can't contain us."

America fell quiet so I assumed that he agreed with me.

"Now then… I'll just say it. Nothing will cure you except for that potion. _Nothing_. You cannot steal from other nations to fix yourself."

Now, America didn't give me the same exasperation he had given Britain. I had driven him into a serious mood. I paused, then reclaimed my seat and computer in order to finish the last of my work. America doned his interest back to the TV and we stayed in an awkward silence until I sighed and closed my laptop, tired with nothing left to do.

"I'm off to bed," I murmured. "I can leave you with one channel. What would you like? Do you want me to change it?"

He turned his bloated head slowly to one side.

"Okay…" I said. "But the volume is fine, right?"

" _Turn dawn_."

"Really? But isn't it harder for you to hear?"

" _I… wawnt t'think elittle_."

I did this, but then blinked and touched the side of my face. If America wanted to ponder something, I felt that I should be worried about his emotions. Though there was hardly anything I could offer to comfort him that I hadn't already said.

Maybe he needed some time alone to absorb this all. Either way, I dipped my head and whispered, "Goodnight then, America. You probably cannot sleep, but have a good night anyway. I will see you in the morning."

" _Night_."

Leaving him was difficult again. I did not want him to be alone, but it was probably not good for my health to stay here long regardless. I dragged myself up the stairs and left the light on for him, though took the care to properly lock the door here and to his house.

Home again, I tossed away my clothes and rid myself of the stench with a shower. With nothing else to do, I lay myself down in discomfort to sleep. Fortunately my fatigue from all of today's events allowed me to drift away.

* * *

It was at breakfast when I heard the phone ringing from America's side. With a jolt, I left everything and hurried to America's side. Just in the final rings, I snatched the phone and cleared my throat. My mind scrambled to remember last night's emails and how America would address someone.

With just enough energy thrown into my tone, I dished out a simple, "Hey!"

"Ah, h-hello, America…" came back a light voice.

Initially, I was unable to identify the speaker. Unlike myself, I made this abruptly known.

"Who's this?"

"Oh- it's… Latvia."

"What the? Latvia? What d'ya need, bruh?"

"I'm sorry to bother you so early…"

 _He really thinks I'm America!_ _This is perfect. Latvia hardly knows me so this is good practice. It's okay if I'm a little off_.

"Hey, just tell me what's up. Is Russia bothering you or something?"

"Erm, no… not this time. I wanted to know if it was okay to… be coming over?"

"Come over? Like- to my house?"

"Y-yeah."

"What for?" I kept the worry out of my voice as I thought about how much I wanted no guests at America's. I hadn't yet checked on America and had no idea how he was. The rankness of death was already hanging in the air up here.

"S-some business. I also am wanting to do some visit after."

I asked loudly, "When did you want to come over?"

"In a week?"

I thought, _I could theoretically prepare the house by then, but who knows how America will be then_.

"Why don't you go ahead and do that vacation?" I suggested. "Anything business you can like, just message me."

"Are you too busy to see me?" Latvia asked tentatively.

"Yeah kinda," I replied. "Anyway, where'd you say you wanted to go?"

"Maybe… Florida?"

"Sure, sure. Don't even ask, dude."

"What- really? Ok-okay… thank you."

"No problemo."

"Bye-"

I hung up immediately like I thought America would, but cringed at the rudeness. Immediately however, I wanted to tell America of the encounter. Before even reaching the door though, I gagged at the powerful stench. Only once brandishing a Febreze bottle, I proceeded down the lighted steps. Tucked under my arm was as well his computer, out of hope that I could get ahead.

"America!" I called before he came into sight. "How are you feeling?"

" _Ghroohd_."

I understood but was immediately taken back from the difference in voice since yesterday.

 _It's getting harder for him to talk!_

Then I saw him. No longer was he bloated, but now he was back to his normal size albeit a tinge more scrawny. His colour was more strange but he actually looked better than before. I wondered what had happened, for it seemed like he had healed yet his speech was so impaired.

I walked closer and he stared at me with unblinking eyes. They were still so glassy but did not seem any worse. My thoughts felt thick as I tried to figure it out. The decay had either accelerated faster than normal or had receded. With America, a subject not mortal, I was lost. Though upon approaching him and spraying the air, I noticed that some of the small scratches had disappeared.

"You look better!" I exclaimed. "That's great- if you can fight the rot, we won't have to worry!"

" _Yhheah_."

He was so much more raspy. Now my hypothesis was that his body had focused on certain spots to heal and not others. The improvement might have gone along with what Britain had said, where the rot would plateau eventually. Perhaps it would never get worse than it was now.

I squinted my eyes at movement over his body. Some black bugs had skittered over his skin and disappeared beneath his clothes. I then worried because I had forgotten to remember the insects, who could make things worse.

"I think I'll spray you with insect repellent," I whispered. "It's the best I can do…"

" _Kheh_."

I did just that, targeting some bugs I saw and dispatching them. I walked around and sprayed additional corners and sides to kill whatever I could, though dread already filled my chest because there was really not much I could do to be rid of so many small and stealthy creatures.

Forcing myself to stay confident, I explained, "So Latvia just called. He wanted to go on vacation here so I told him he could, but I told him not to visit. I tried to sound just like you and he didn't notice anything… Was that okay?"

" _Who_?"

"Latvia? A small European country…"

" _Ahh_ … _Nah like Rossie_."

"No, he doesn't like him. I think he is afraid of him actually..."

I sprayed a ring around myself then opened the laptop.

"How about we work a bit?" There was really no choice for him, but he seemed eager to help. I went on to cover his messages and he assisted me in answering each one, although with more difficulty than last time. When I came to one from Russia though, I hesitated. It felt like I should not check it but there was no way it could be ignored.

"Something from Russia…" I murmured before moving to open it.

I was burning with curiosity however, wondering what they would speak about. I feared aggression, something spiteful- but found only a picture.

" _Wha is_?"

My eyes flickered over the full image, confused. "Cake…?"

" _Kahk_?"

I showed him the image but then he went quiet while looking at it. His gaze twitched and he looked back at me without comment.

"America…" I murmured. "Can you see the picture?"

He turned his head to the side. A no.

"Can you see anything?"

A slight nod.

"Well…" I tried to swallow my worry for him. "It looks like a picture he took himself. It's on a dish so I think he made it. Does he do this often?"

" _Sometime_ …"

"What do you usually say?"

" _Khool_."

"That's it? Just that?" I blinked. "But if you always say that, won't he know you're not sincere?"

" _Whatev_."

I turned the computer back, but took an experimental scroll up. All of these messages were nothing work-related, mostly pictures or short conversations that ended abruptly. Pretty much all initiated by Russia. There were some occasional pictures of landscape, items, or food from him that America did not ignore, but did not write much to follow. The responses were dominated by _cool_ , _lol_ , _wow_ , and _haha_.

Russia obviously knew, so I wondered how irritated he must be. Since these efforts were casual, I went against America's wish and wrote more than he requested. Though to cover it up, I claimed to America that France had sent something. I made up a general _how are you_ sentence, so while America slowly responded, I pretended to write what he said.

 _Looks nice. What's in it?_ I instead sent to Russia. It seemed innocent and polite enough to not cause any problems.

It was just after I had dealt with the other real messages, that I received an answer from him.

 _There is honey._

I peeked at America, but he was refocused on the TV in my silence. Since it did not feel right to end the conversation there, I continued. After some experimental taps that America did not question, I dove into it.

 _Oh so it's that honey cake thing. Can I see the inside?_

Very soon a picture came back of a slice with many layers of gold lined with white. The outside was decorated with crumbs and my eyes widened in admiration.

 _That looks awesome_

I could see that he was writing a response. Amazed, I tried to imagine Russia typing on his phone, leaning against the counter in his kitchen.

 _You should try it. It is maybe not sweet like you would want, but I think it is very good. It is a dry cake that is best to have with hot drink._

I wrote what I thought America might, _ah k_

 _If you come over I will make it for you )))_

I thought he had accidentally pressed the parentheses. Unsure now however, I typed, _Little busy now sorry_

 _Why are you always busy?_

Then I knew that I had fallen onto an excuse America used too often.

 _Wait,_ I corrected it. _When do you mean?_

I shook my head and thought, _Should I really be committing to anything?_

 _Sometime soon would be nice ) come over._

Parenthesis again; I had no idea. But now I felt guilty that I had led him on too much. I did not feel ready to face people and pretend to be America. I didn't even have my coloured contacts yet.

 _Maybe in a month?_ I wrote, since it was far enough away and vague enough that I could extend it with excuses if I wanted to.

Then I thought, _Although, if I meet with Russia I could create a friendly encounter. One that I don't think America would have. I have a chance to put things in the right direction for so many._

Russia wrote back, _You are serious?_

 _Sure_

 _Why?_

 _Idk I want to know how to make it_

 _You will not look online?_

I could tell that Russia had not been expecting an acceptance of his offer. Now I felt more committed to do this.

 _No it is better when I get it right. I hate spending so much time baking something then fucking it up_

I felt like I was being too obscene, but Russia didn't seem to care.

 _Great! I hope to see you then._

I glanced at America who was still completely oblivious to what I had done. I imagined his lethargic anger if I outright told him, and though there was nothing he could do, I said nothing. A passion grew in my chest as I pictured all the friendly interactions I could do behind his back. By the time he was back to normal, he would be able to enjoy all the fruits of my labor.

I sent back a thumbs up to Russia. There was no response back so it was set in stone. Satisfied, I closed all of America's accounts then worked on my own things.

He creaked his head over to me. " _Iz all_?"

When I had gazed at him, I noticed that the colour of his teeth had changed slightly. Forcing myself not to grimace, I replied, "Yep, just going to work on my things now."

Then I paused.

"Actually… would you like to do something? You must be bored… I know you can't see well, but we could listen to videos. YouTube?"

America languidly perked up, and there was a swiftness to his hiss, " _Yhes_!"

I connected the computer to the TV and brought up videos of his favorite gamers. At least with the large screen he should be able to see a bit, or so I hoped anyway. I sat and watched while he seemed engaged, and while my interest was not as great as his, I was glad to be in his quiet presence. He was never really this calm on the average day.

When I left for lunch, I took a moment to step outside to inhale the breeze. I did my work on the steps before the front door, and although I felt healthier out here, I felt guilt in leaving America alone. He had been left with the news however, and I hoped he would not mind if I went for a stroll.

I knew I would end up back in that basement like it was my second life. I decided not to shower and change just yet for that reason, and also because when I sniffed at myself I could barely detect an odour.

The streets were where I went, with my hair hanging loose as _me_ as it could be. I wandered in plaid without a particular purpose until my phone jumped in my pocket. My phone, not America's cellphone. I gasped and scooped it out, panicking when I saw it was the Prime Minister.

And I nearly exploded into America's dialect. Quickly though, I softened my voice for a greeting and waited for what would come. Somehow, it had gotten into my head that my secret had been found out. My heart beat wildly until I heard the true reason for the call: my boss planned to visit me tomorrow.

"T-tomorrow…?" I whispered. Already I wanted to claim I could not make tomorrow, but he of all people would know that I was not busy.

 _Maybe we can meet someplace else?_ I raced to find another way out. By Kumajiro's behaviour, the house had not been dosed with enough chemicals and fresh air to eliminate the smell. I could not be ready by tomorrow.

So I suggested that we chat at a Tim Hortons. Fortunately for me, this was a fellow Canadian and the offer was immediately taken. When a time was established, the call ended and I exhaled in relief.

I had been stopped at the crosswalk for a while. At the hand signal, people had gathered around me and were looking on ahead. By my hip however, I heard a high-pitched whine.

" _That man smells like garbage, mom_!"

My eyebrows flew up and I looked to the little girl beside me. The mother she was connected to wrinkled her forehead, clearly in agreement, although she tried to give me an apologetic look. When the walk signal came, I powered on ahead in embarrassment.

 _I've gotten too used to the smell._

Though when I came home later for dinner, I still did not bother to clean myself. I was back to America, wondering how he was faring. I unlocked the inner door and strolled into his home, walking through the silence to the basement door. I turned the lock here and proceeded, starting down the lighted stairs.

As I came down closer, I called, "Are you okay America?"

I heard the TV still playing, but there came no moan back. My steps slowed as my eyes widened, my hand trailing the railing with a quiver.

"America?"

I peeked my head around the wall first and jolted when I saw him. He sat where he always did, in chains and immobile. America was facing the TV still, though he had not noticed me despite my call.

I crept closer.

"America?"

I could see the colour of his skin that had changed even further from its normal tone. I also noticed lines on his cheeks that might have been there this morning, though looked worse when focused on. I gulped as still he focused on the TV, just until I came a few metres away.

Then, he twitched and his head revolved my way. America's eyes widened in his surprise. I blinked as he fixed me with a conscious gaze, then I repeated, "America?"

His eyes fell to my lips. " _Whaht_?"

"How are you?" I hollered.

" _Ffiine_ …"

"You can't hear well!" I exclaimed.

" _Nyehh nawt reahlly_ …"

"That's not good…" I sighed. "I'm sorry."

His mouth gaped, but America did not seem like he was about to put in the effort to speak what was on his mind. Since he looked sort of troubled, I assumed his thoughts.

"Why am I sorry…?" I murmured. "Well, I think it will get a little worse than this. A _little_ , I hope. And there's nothing I can do about it."

" _Izz kay_."

I looked down.

"I don't understand…" I tried to force a smile. "Just how you can stay so _relaxed_ about this."

Yet even if he did not have a reason to give me. I was glad for his nonchalant attitude. It eased me although my strand of hope was growing thinner.

"What do you want to do then?" I asked. "I still don't want you to be bored… Is there anything I can do to entertain you until Britain comes?"

" _Nawt bored_."

That just didn't seem right. America couldn't entertain himself just by sitting- even when lazy, he was watching something or playing a video game. He never just sat and pondered for fun. My heart lurched as it wanted so desperately to know what thoughts were running through his mind, the same ones of the night he had wanted low volume.

Perhaps this wasn't as cool as he had claimed it all to be.

"Could you hear the TV if I just turned up the volume some more?" I regarded him with a sorrowful gaze.

" _Yass_ _buht… aie don't need_ -"

"Just a little TV," I pressed. "Please. We can watch it together. There's always something. I'll switch the channel..."

His responding moan relaxed my shoulders. " _Ahright_."

"Until Britain comes," I repeated as I grabbed the remote.

 _Until you can no longer watch this with me._

I settled down with him again, but this time without anything to be done. This was now by far the most important thing I could do. When there beside him and having the air of caring about the TV, America became distracted from his thoughts. He was able to enjoy something again.

I felt happiness from this, because I had served not the duty that Britain had placed upon me, but the duty of a good brother.

"We could even watch movies." He looked to me as I spoke. "A marathon of anything. The Marvel movies, Star Wars, Harry Potter…"

America slowly nodded.

"It'll be like a slumber party. We'll stay up all night!"

He smiled a bit, all that he could.

"We have an early start already, so what will it be?"

I did not care what the answer was. I just wanted him to enjoy the movies while he could. And after his moaned answer, I gathered the traditional DVDs and set the first into a player.

I almost wanted to say thank you to him, for allowing us this. Instead though, I turned off the lights and curled up on the chair, hugging my knees as the lights and sounds fell over us.

"We're in for it now!" I joked, trying to pretend that the movies were all I was thinking about. "If you want to switch, it won't happen! We're starting and ending this."

America produced a peculiar hiss which I knew to be laughter.

"Well, I don't know about the run times." I shrugged. "But… If Britain arrives first, that is when we will end it."

After our non-verbal agreement, we went silent. Two pairs of eyes so different looked on as the first movie began.

* * *

I had managed to stay awake during the whole thing despite my absolute weariness. All my emotions and the new tasks to complete had left me exhausted, but since America had always been able to comment after every film, we had continued.

Throughout the hours however, there had been changes only noticed after the credits had appeared. I had never noticed from my frequent glances, but only after long periods of time had passed and I had remembered how it had been hours before. Slowly over the course of the night, his eye colour had completely changed, and I knew that something was wrong.

I watched America's eyes trained on the screen, but they did not seem to move so much. That was how I had figured out that he was blind, although he never spoke a word about it to me. We had just kept watching, and because of what he had heard, he would converse with me as though he had observed all the action.

Yet I did not want to bring him back to his thoughts, so I said nothing of it either. When the series came to an end, I simply packed up and said my goodbye, before heading up to fresh air. Just in time for the arrival of the day as well, whose sunlight pained my eyes as I trudged around upstairs.

I happened to be in the vicinity when Britain arrived. I greeted him with blurry vision and rings carved under my eyes, but there was hardly any time to talk. He wanted to see America straight away, and that he would do. Despite feeling so heavy and slow, I felt like an unnoticed shadow following Britain as he hurried through the rank air down the stairs of the basement.

"America!" he called.

I paused on the steps as Britain hopped down and raced toward him. So many hours had passed and I knew the difference all too well. Even skinnier he had become, as though he was eating up himself, and his irises were now a milky hue. And as expected, America did not react to Britain. He stared forward, but not precisely at the TV that had been left on for noise.

"He can't hear well," I reminded him. I had tried to warn him at the front door, but Britain had practically rushed past me.

Britain shifted around to America's front. Immediately I added, "He is blind now too."

But at his presence, America's head lifted. He seemed to stare right at Britain and now I became unsure of my statement. _Maybe he was actually able to see then, just a little, last night._

America's mouth dropped and he slurred, " _Whhrhou zhhaa_?"

"It's me." Britain leaned closer and spoke loudly for his benefit.

" _Bhhriiitt_?"

His eyes shone. "Yes, yes. I'm here."

Britain reached out and touched America on the shoulder. I raised my eyebrows, since I had not thought about doing such a thing. I had almost considered myself forbidden to come near him, even with all that I had done for him, but there Britain was within biting range.

America turned toward the hand but did nothing to it. They stayed frozen like that for some time, until I worriedly glanced at my watch and said, "I have to get going."

Britain glanced at me. "Going where?"

I had already told him, but I repeated, "I have to meet my boss."

"Oh, alright. Do enjoy yourself then."

I stayed for a moment, feeling dread that I would leave Britain alone with America, although Britain had been the one to caution me. I gawked as Britain knelt into the stains of the floor and unexpectedly hugged my brother- the corpse, despite the certain odour and texture. And even though his neck hung close to America's mouth, he still did not snap.

 _Not a zombie_ , I reminded myself again. _Ill, but America. And he's still here. Maybe just long enough for another night with us._

Yet Britain was the one we relied on. Imagining the worst, I whispered, "Be careful. We don't know what he might do."

"After you are done, we'll get some fresh air, Canada," was the manner in which Britain answered, since America was sure to have heard any other response when so close. "I will go with you and we will search for one of the flowers which should be in the area. Nothing will keep me from trying."

In other words, _I will be alright and there to do it_.

I decided to trust him again, since I knew his experience was beyond mine. If he felt safe right now, so be it.

 _When- no, no-_ if _it gets dangerous, Britain will let me know. And that is when I will keep the door closed and stay away from him._

I crept away and headed up the stairs. Once I saw the time however, I only managed to change my clothes again and put on a big hat before I hustled out the door to my meeting. And although I would have all the tasty delights I was accustomed to at the casual encounter, I knew it would drag on.

 _How can I even enjoy Tim Hortons, when Britain is alone with him? What will happen while I am gone? What will they talk about and what will they do? Maybe Britain can talk some sense into him, but there's no point in him being here except for the plants, I think. This is only making everyone more sad. Because we know what will eventually happen._

The thoughts continued even while a perfect Boston Cream doughnut lay before me.

 _He has gotten worse_.

It was as well difficult to hear my boss, let alone answer him. He looked at me sometimes in a way that I knew that he thought that there was something on my mind.

 _If you only knew._ I gazed up and made eye contact. I wanted to have someone else to tell to relief the weight upon me, but he was definitely not the one to use.

He had still not questioned my hat. It was a little cool today and some people modeled me at the tables here, so it was not so suspicious.

When I thought about America and my time speaking to him, I thought in English. It shook my mind trying to answer back in French, and when too many times passed where I had answered back in English, we ended up switching entirely. Not that it was minded, but there had been no call for it after we had started one way.

I was eventually asked, "Is something wrong?"

I bit my doughnut just so I could have time to organize my thoughts.

"No," I murmured. That was a lie, but not necessarily what followed. "I'm sorry, but I'm just a little tired."

Of course, I would not be punished for this. After being sympathized with however, I could only look back at him and think, _Just what would happen, if you knew exactly what was in my neighbour's basement… If you saw him how he was right now. What would you do?_

He would be afraid. Death was understood by people like him as when all movement ceased and the body was meant to be still forever. I only wished that I understood how our lives worked so I could understand America's condition.

I imagined myself shaking my head in wonder.

 _Really, if only you and the others knew!_


	5. Chapter 5

The forest Britain had wanted to search was two hours away, a rather small one that I was surprised Britain had known about. I had taken the wheel, driving us on the most direct route there. Not far into the journey however, I asked, "How do you know something is there?"

Britain answered, "I don't. But I know it _was_ there, before that forest had even been given that name."

"But when did you go there?"

"Oh you know, back in the early days when I explored this continent."

Then I saw Britain's map when he pulled it out: a sheet of paper with marks on a screenshot of Google Maps. When he had mentioned his map, I had expected something on ancient, yellow paper, but then I supposed that something so dear must have been copied several times over.

"I never go without marking the location of rare plants I find," Britain went on to explain. "And back when I was here a lot, I found many things. Some _new_ plants that I had never encountered before that needed to be researched."

"So there is something here that doesn't grow at your place…"

"Some grow here and there," he said. "But certainly, one finds new species in different places with new effects. That is why I always hope to find ones that can better my potions, for example, one that could help me store the Regeneration Potion for more than a year."

"Where haven't you looked?" I asked. "I mean, if the world is so big and you haven't checked every corner of every country... who _knows_ what is out there."

"Indeed. Sometimes when I think about it, I am filled with excitement- but then I reconsider just how old I am and how many places I have traveled while colonizing."

"But you haven't colonized every country..." With a glance to him, I proposed a new idea. "What if there is a plant that would improve the potion? Or work on its own? Then you wouldn't have to spend so much time searching for all these ones..."

Britain dragged himself to the window. "That's a little ahead of ourselves. They have never been able to do so much… One destroys bacteria while another reconnects nerves… and I'm merely referring to the useful ones. Sometimes plants are just magical and have nothing to offer us."

I was not discouraged yet. I continued, "But maybe you are right and there is something that could improve the potion. You can't be sure if there is something underwater, or in the North, on a random island…"

"Perhaps when I have more time. But I would rather search Europe before I go to the most desolate spots on Earth. There are always great finds in the home continent. Some interesting ones in Asia as well."

"Have you checked Russia then?" I inquired.

He chuckled softly, "No, not so much. That would be the place, wouldn't it? The largest country full of biomes and I haven't even cracked it."

"Why not?" I murmured. "He would let you visit. It seems that he is always trying to have guests come over."

"Well, for example's sake, I do recall him sending _presents_ to us of train tickets to Siberia with no return tickets. But the point is that there's no knowing what would happen if I went out into the wilderness with Russia as my escort. It could just very well be the last time you hear of me again."

"Maybe that's a little dramatic but… how about this. I told Russia I would visit him- as America, I mean… If you came that would make two of us. It would be safer. What do you say?"

After a curt pause, Britain nodded. "I suppose dedicating just a bit of time could be worth the effort. And I would feel a great deal safer going there if Russia thought that America was there beside me."

"Then I'll contact him when we get back."

"Very well."

After that was decided, a silence fell between us. I peeked at Britain as he curled up by the window and continued observing the passing countryside. I changed the chatter of the radio to some music, only to interrupt it minutes later with another question.

"The plant we are looking for now… can I see this one?"

"Yes, but only if you see it in time. Well, I suppose I should inform you all about it now. What we're looking for is a yellow flower with pink leaves. When the ground near the plant trembles from a footstep however, it flashes back down underground. The trick is to wait for it to emerge and snip it, although they are awfully fast. The little clippers I brought for the job should suffice."

He had answered everything so directly that I could only return to listening to the music. The voices of American singers allowed me no chance for distraction though, and soon I was brought back to thinking of America's condition. But there was nothing to say about that.

I already knew all there was to know, which was that he had been fine while I was gone but would eventually be disconnected from the world by the loss of his senses. So I lamented instead about how soon it would start feeling like America was truly dead and that I would be alone with the burden of being him. I considered as well that the building would be awfully quiet once Britain was gone too. Watching him again, I noticed that I had not been the only one staring off at nothing in particular while emotions rolled on within.

The woods we arrived to after the long silence was one that did not have a large plot. After I had been the one to take us here, Britain now took the lead down the path. I followed closely without comment and when I noticed Britain peering hard at our surroundings, I did the same, on the hunt for a glimpse of pink and yellow.

We walked down the path for what must have been for half an hour, the minutes ticking by slowly and the many shades of green foliage starting to blend together. Together we alternatively pushed overgrown branches out of the path, and stepped over twisted tree roots as they threatened to trip us. As we moved deeper down the path, a patch of bright sun became visible to us. It was only as we came into the sunny clearing that Britain exclaimed and startled me.

"There, I saw it!"

I had been looking in the same direction as him but I had seen nothing. We wandered closer to a patch of grass and I asked, "How did you know to wander exactly this way though? Did you remember this spot?"

"Oh no, no. One just sort of gets a feel for it. I knew since we entered the forest that it was here, a couple of them actually."

"Really?" I raised my brows and automatically sat down when Britain did, presumably in front of where the plant had disappeared. I saw a small stain of disturbed dirt and stared at it in amazement.

"Yes, and seeing one out in the sunlight makes sense. They move around like that, trying to find the best spots. Luckily for us, some stayed around here and didn't travel across the county."

We went still and quiet, watching the spot intently. I felt the sun on my nape as we waited through the minutes, and with nothing to do, I started to imagine America's opaque eyes in my mind. A pang of pain resonated in my chest at the thought, and I wondered what he must be feeling at the moment, locked up in a cloud of his own decaying stench in his own house. So caught up I became that I had not seen the first part of the flower to emerge. When I glanced over next however, I saw nyan yellow petals surrounding a black middle, peeking out from the dirt.

As it cautiously climbed back out toward the sun, I withheld my gasp. Beside me, Britain was fixated and poised like a cat targeting its prey. A salmon-pink stem rose and fern-like leaves unfurled, relaxing and resettling. I took in all the beauty with wide eyes, until Britain lunged and the jaws of the clippers snapped.

The stem was bit in two and instantly the remaining stem shot back down into the earth. The flower collapsed limply onto the grass, whereupon Britain exhaled in relief and pinched it between two fingers. The prize was raised and he smiled before passing it off to me.

I fumbled when I took that little flower of magnificent colours into my palm. A momentary feeling of sorrow overcame me, but then Britain shifted closer over the grass.

"It grows back, Canada," he assured me. "The top part forms the exact same flower again. This does not kill it."

"So… does it make the same happen with America then?"

"Well… not on its own," Britain sighed. "If only though. This plant heals itself, from the roots up, but only itself. So the part you are holding will not heal. As for what it can do, the petals kill insects, bacteria… all the harmful things that might have gotten inside America."

"That's incredible," I breathed. "Now I'm sure there's a reason, but couldn't it be used to create medicine? I know they are hard to catch, but if they could be reproduced..."

"A fine idea," Britain said as he stood, "but useless. The plant is poisonous to regular people… something I regret to have found out while treating someone with the plague."

Britain began to head off, looking back at me to see if I was following. I carefully carried the flower as I strode after him.

"Are you sure it was the flower that did it?"

"Of course. They died in seconds, blood leaking from orifices."

"O-oh…"

He regarded me. "But they _do_ work on nations. All these flowers- they kill people. But there is some kind of connection between the flowers and us, some property we share. Now although these plants die from age or from severe root damage, their healing ability is as swift as ours is when we are healthy."

"Like us…" I murmured.

"And just like us," Britain continued, "I haven't the slightest idea where they come from. They cannot breed."

When we made it back to the car, Britain had me keep the flower safely tucked in the storage compartment. After this, we headed off west to another forest that was just as small as the other.

"It must have taken you so long to come up with the idea of a potion," I began as the silence provoked more discussion on the matter. "And to travel around, searching for all these things…"

"Well," he said. "I knew what each one did so I assumed that combining them would solve everything. To be honest, I made some mistakes as well while searching for the cure. One, trying only one plant at a time and not mixing everything together. You see, filling a body with blood is pointless without a healed heart and lungs, and pointless again if the nerves are damaged… It has to happen all at once."

"What other mistakes happened?"

"Other mistakes…?"

"You er… Did say 'one'."

"Apologies," he replied. "I was thinking about the procedural mistakes as well… such as not initially tying up the subject. And keeping them in the main room out of sentimental reasons. The stench was awful- charred and rotting flesh… and to think of how easy it would have been for someone to spot them!"

I looked back to him to see what he was doing and what his facial expression was. Britain was however, turned away again toward the window.

"You did say _he_ before, didn't you?" I pressed softly. "A friend of yours from a long time ago."

"Yes…" he admitted hesitantly. "A he."

But I had caught onto his vagueness of the topic. "So you won't tell me who it is?"

"I made a promise that I wouldn't," he answered gently.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "To him?"

Britain dipped his head slightly although still looked away. I noticed his hands creeping to the crooks of his arms.

"But why keep it a secret?" I probed further.

"There are a few reasons," he murmured. "One… I don't want anyone to know about this constant death syndrome, not the other nations, not the people of the world. I can imagine the panic and the possible desire to invoke the condition. As of now, nations might believe that they can only be hurt, that they'll heal right away because they have their power. Imagine if… if people knew that they could incapacitate America. That anyone could shoot him enough so that he just couldn't heal back right."

Since Britain had been behaving a little off, I paid close attention to his wording. "I thought he couldn't heal. But now it is 'heal back right'?"

"Well," Britain sighed. "I did say that he will get stronger again. Perhaps right back to his original strength as though he was properly alive. Although, with an obvious change in appearance and a glaring aggressive disposition."

I nodded in reluctant understanding. He then continued on this time without me prompting him, "Of course there is a limit. Our physical bodies are not made of steel, after all. Skin tears, blood leaks… Maybe it takes hours to suffocate, I don't know. But there _is_ a limit. Fortunately, connecting with whatever it is we are made of puts us back on the right track. No matter if we have drowned, fallen, burned…"

 _Burned_.

All I could think about was the Great Fire of London, but that did not concern other nations, only him. Trying to be sensitive yet anxious to know more, I whispered, "Was it a house fire?"

"No, no…"

"So then, it was during a war?"

"Ye… No. He was not looking for a fight… He… had done nothing to deserve it." And quieter Britain became. "The fire was brought to him and he must have been trapped. Many had died… and he looked just like the other victims, if not worse. But that was not his end."

"Was there an end then? Is this nation… no longer with us?"

"I would tell you the name if that were so."

"But why not tell me?" I shrugged to seem open, but I was quite desperate to get a name. "I know about this condition, so what harm could there be?"

"It was not a pleasant experience," Britain murmured. "So I promised that for the victim's sake, we would all forget that it happened..."

"I won't tell him," I said. "I won't mention a thing. You can trust me, Britain... You know how quiet I can be."

"I know, I know…" He squeezed his arms to his body. "But I promised and I would not feel like a honorable gentleman if I went against my word. What happened was supposed to be a secret lost in time anyway. It was only a horrible accident, Canada, so there is no need to discuss it. I want us to treat America's case that way too."

Although it had not seemed possible, Britain squeezed himself even tighter. I didn't want to force him into anything since he was clearly uncomfortable, but I thought, _It is definitely someone I know. He was a friend of Britain from long ago, but how long ago exactly? And how old was Britain?_

"Could I at least ask… when it happened?"

"I would prefer not to say that either…" Britain replied quietly. "That would help you figure out who it was."

"Were you… children?"

I glimpsed a flash of shock across Britain's expression, but then he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I can't imagine how it would have been if I had been so young…" he whispered. "I wouldn't have known enough to cure him. And I wouldn't have been so used to death to handle that well… My incompetence would have thus led to my own constant death."

Britain turned a little to the side and faced forward now, allowing me to catch a peek of his face. Once I saw the lines of distress, I decided to end the conversation there. I couldn't press him so hard when I didn't know what he had seen. America hadn't even deteriorated to such an extent, and then to imagine being the first one to see the condition, without anyone to explain it…

"I'm sorry, Britain…" I murmured. "You promised not to say, so I shouldn't push you."

I was relieved when he seemed to relax from my words.

"Thank you," he exhaled. "That means a lot to me."

I left him to relax in peace until we arrived at our destination. When we came to the next forest, it was a deep red fern we were searching for. We trampled upon a dusty, well-used path for another while, continuing to be wordless. It lasted until Britain froze unexpectedly, and I skid then stepped back to his side.

"Did you see it?"

Britain nodded his head toward what seemed like an expanse of non-particular woods. He responded, "It's that way."

"How far?" I furrowed my eyebrows. "That's off the path."

"What about the path, Canada? We can't expect it to grow nicely at the side just for us."

I scrunched down slightly, flickering my eyes to the left and the right of the path. It seemed utterly impossible to leave it and venture off in that direction, as though danger lurked there yonder and I was safe only here.

"How do you know it is there?" My voice tightened.

"Just look at yourself." Britain smirked slightly. "Absolute proof that I am right. Pay attention to your words- every bit of you wants to avoid heading that way. Before, you would have followed me without protest."

And I wanted to argue still, but I focused hard upon his words.

Britain pointed away. "Look there. It appears that there used to be a path here, but it's been unused for so long that it's become overgrown. That's because the plant has grown back there, warding off people."

Britain grabbed my wrist and pulled me after him. My feet dragged for a moment before I gritted my teeth and forced myself to pad after him. We pushed through the heather with my urge to leave becoming stronger with every step. I concentrated on his grip and my faith in him, thinking on a loop, _Britain is right. I have to listen to him_ …

"One day, I had wondered why I felt so strange," Britain began to explain. "Why I didn't want to go certain ways in the forest. Why no one else it seemed, wanted to go. So I took a sword and headed off in expectation of finding a beast… only to find an innocent plant. I discovered then that the pressure I had felt was a _magical_ one. And I would never forget the feeling since."

We broke through some shrubs and came upon a patch of unexpectedly tall ferns, scarlet and bowing over our heads. In an instant my urge to depart vanished and I was in control again, feeling only awe.

"I thought it would be small," I breathed. "Like the last one…"

Britain nudged me forward. "Touch it."

I lifted my hand but paused when I noticed among the flat leaves, the smallest, hairlike thorns.

"It looks sharp though."

"Yes I know, but trust me."

I grazed my fingers over the leaf and immediately yipped in pain. I felt the thin thorns cleanly poke through my skin before I pulled away. My eyes dropped to my fingertips, but there was not even a single drop of blood there. Neither a hole nor a slit. I brought my fingers closer but still could not find any tiny marks.

"This one has always fascinated me," Britain sighed wistfully. I glanced to him and he gazed back at me, as he ran his arm over a large leaf. We both flinched, but then he revealed his clear arm to me.

"I don't understand…" I blinked. "I felt it in me but… is it really so sharp?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "But this is a healing plant. We heal so fast we do not see it, not even realizing that it has done improvements actually. There is now more blood inside your body than before."

"So _this_ is the plant for blood?"

"It is. Easy to obtain, and why I tried it first the last time."

The clippers were slipped out and Britain went around, snipping off enough for a large bundle. He dropped them in a pile by my feet and even by the time he was done, it did not appear like he had made a dent in the amount of scarlet leaves around us. None of these plants reacted like the flower had, instead staying immobile while Britain gathered all he wanted.

"We need a lot more of this than anything else," he explained while scraping the pile into his arms and winching. "So don't worry because we only have a few petals of the other one."

"Oh, okay…"

Britain headed off and I slid to his side. I saw the look of pain clutching his face, so I asked, "Would you like some help?"

"No, no-"

I couldn't hear it. Quickly I took half and saved him from being constantly scraped across the face. I knew he was relieved, but I still felt a bit embarrassed from rushing in like that despite his refusal. The short needles dug into me the entire way back, although I tried not to consider it since benefits were left instead of wounds.

"So will this be all for today?" I asked, glancing up toward the sun dipping toward the horizon. "We've been out so long and far away… I don't want to leave America alone for much longer."

"Alright then," he nodded. "We'll head back and search more later. Remember though, that he wanted you to have a break. You need the air and distance, Canada. Think of your mental health as well as your physical health."

"I know, I know… Once he changes, I don't think I will even _want_ to see him. But right now, he's still my brother…"

"He'll be alright by the time we get back. Don't worry."

I didn't want to ruin the mood but I couldn't help but think, _You can't be sure though. We haven't been able to predict anything so far._

We put the bundles into the trunk before I took on a hasty route back home. I noticed that respectfully, Britain was not asking me to stop for food along the way. We sat in hunger and in silence, since I felt that anything I would ask Britain might only upset him or me. By the time we arrived though, I forgot it all. I had even neglected to lock the car as I raced to America before anything else.

I don't know what became of Britain in truth, as I bolted for the basement door and threw myself down the lighted steps.

"America!" I cried. "We're home!"

I slowed and dipped my head around the stone wall, facing the thick stench of rot. America sat with his eyes forward and absolutely immobile as like his usual, he stared off at the wall. But it was different when he could not see the TV and it was turned off, since there were no longer any sounds bringing life to the room. The silence hung so prevalently instead that everything felt darker here, the air misted and the corners lost in vantablack.

I slid forward, my footsteps scraping loudly and striking my nerves. With a twitch and a lump in my throat, I called, "America? Can you hear me?"

I strode out in front of him although I remembered his blindness, but still his opaque irises did not react to the new presence.

"America!" I hollered. "America?"

"He can't hear you…"

I leapt from Britain's sudden voice behind me. I turned to him just as he added softly, " I'm sorry, Canada… We didn't make it in time."

I jolted and fixed him with widened eyes. "No, no… he can still feel, can't he? He has to know that we are here!"

Before Britain could speak, I fell down and shook America by the shoulder. My hand pressed deep into unusual softness and I fell back in terror, heart battering painfully against my ribs. America tilted over and did not correct himself or react to the position I had given him.

I whipped back to Britain with tears already collecting in my eyes.

"Why isn't he doing anything?" I mewled. "I thought you said he wouldn't die! You said it couldn't happen, you said-"

"I think he's still there," Britain murmured. "He just doesn't know we are here though. He can't see, hear, or feel anything anymore."

"No, no…" I quivered. "That's awful… He's trapped in his mind, can't do anything…"

I reached out and touched him again, stroking over his dry hair. America did nothing at all.

"It won't be long like that," Britain whispered. "I think soon he won't be able to think anything at all."

"You think! You don't know- it's different, it's _America_! What if he doesn't rot anymore? What is he just stays like this for- for months!"

"I don't know, you're right… but it is likely, Canada." Britain extended a weak hand and touched me on the back. "And it would be easier that way."

"How?" Trails of wetness streaked down my cheeks. "He'll be so unlike himself then. He'll try to hurt us…"

I snatched Britain's arm.

"How did your friend know where you were? When he was burned and rotten for so long, how did he find you and attack you, blind, deaf, and incapable of feeling? _How_?"

Britain's eyes flew open and he looked away. "I… I don't know either. He just sensed where I was…"

"How is that possible?" I cried. "Please tell me, how can we let America know that we are here? He isn't sensing us right now! I-I… I wanted to say goodbye. Please… I didn't want to be too late. I don't want him to die… I've never been there for him! I need- I-"

"But you _have_ been there. You stayed with him, you kept him company, and helped him laugh through these tough times…" Britain knelt down and turned my face to him. "He knows how he died and he knows what will happen, but still you could make him smile. I know that maybe it looks like America can just shrug off anything but, you've done more for him than you know."

My throat ached so much. I crawled into Britain's arms and set my tears into his thin shoulder. "I don't want him to be gone," I whimpered. "I don't want to be alone…"

"You know what to do now," Britain murmured. His arms were awkward as they sought to find a comforting position, but settled on patting my back. "You've practiced and fooled so many already… You _can_ be America, and you will be him for his sake."

"I don't want to… I don't want this…"

But he didn't argue this, because through the whiteness of my stress I knew that my words were empty whines, and he knew it too. A hand brushed through my hair, trying to provide more than words ever could.

"He isn't dead," Britain whispered by my ear. "America isn't gone."

I pulled tighter and pressed in my face. I knew he was right although it felt so much right now that America was nothing but a corpse, when he did not do anything at all. He was still and cold. If only he could move, then perhaps it wouldn't hurt so _much_.

Twisting, twisted- my throat tightened and I could barely make a coherent sound. With my breaths, my chest bucked and my arms twitched, slipping off and back onto Britain. He tried to raise me, but when I felt myself slipping just a bit away from America, I fell back down.

"N-no!" My throat cracked. "I w-want… I-I c-can't- he m-might…"

I wanted to say so much but my hiccups overcame my voice. My thoughts rolled on although Britain, who I wanted so much to tell them to, heard none of it.

 _He might sense that we are here if we give him the time! You said it happened with the last case. America might talk to us then, show us that he is still here!_

"Canada…" He tried to move me, but more softly this time. "Canada…"

I yanked away from his grasp and pounced upon America. A revolting cloud struck my nostrils but I hugged him, shaking his body and hoping for a reaction. He flopped limply about but there was no way for him to know he was being moved, when all his senses were lost. America's teeth clacked until slowly, my movements ceased. His mouth hung partly open as my hands slid down his arms.

My head pressed into the cold metal of the chains. So cold, just like he was. Cruelly, so unlovingly cold.

 _Please do something, America. Show me that you aren't dead_.

Britain was touching my back again, although it had taken me some seconds to realize it. But then, the press of his palm was like a beckoning pull.

"It's better that we go," he whispered faintly.

There was something about his voice that made me fall back into him and hold him again. I hadn't thought about what it was, until I felt the shiver accompany his shaky breath. It had been the weak tremble of a voice before the tears came, now recognized as wetness against my cheek.

My eyes widened and I stroked his back immediately, tucking his head into me at the same time. A weight of guilt sunk within me as Britain jolted and tried so vainly to contain himself. He was trying so hard to hide his tears, but I saw him breaking methodically like cracks spreading across glass.

So finally, I heeded his words. They had been for both of us after all; Britain had only been trying to be calm for me once again. We came to our feet and padded to the stairs, looking to the wall beside us and pretending that America could not be seen across the way. The light was turned off, the door was locked, and then, somehow, we made it to the couch and fell down there.

I dared a peek at Britain, only to be startled by his hands covering his face. I knew that he was trying to hide his grief and tears but I panicked anyway, for now no one remained to be the beacon of optimism. There was no one to tell me that everything would be fine. I could not stay still anymore; my muscles twitched and my breath escaped me in rapid puffs. As though dosed in acid, my eyes burned although the tears only continued to push through.

Britain sat up and I saw him staring at me in concern despite the teary film that covered my eyes. A second later, I was eased into his arms and shushed with a wobbly whisper. His voice was brittle and his sadness an enveloping aura; I had been selfish, I realized, and I wasn't alone in this pain. He was small and shaky beside me, so easily I pulled him into me instead to envelope him in my warmth. The reaction was instantaneous. The tight vise on his control released at the first touch of my hug. Britain's soft crying snapped into one sob, but then returned to a near silence once more. I jolted and gazed down at his blond hair in concern, before leaning down petting his twitching ribs into control.

Neither of us seemed to mind the lingering smell. I could only focus on the feeling of Britain crying into me. With my arms around him I couldn't help but notice how thin he seemed, when he was vulnerable like this. I hadn't really thought about how much smaller he was compared to me and America before. And how although he hadn't aged further, he had still been the one who had raised us. When I had been small and he, the larger one- I had been the one to be totally enclosed in his comfort. But now here we were, so far from those times, and I held him.

Together we fell quiet, only cutting through the silence with occasional sniffing and shifting grips. My eyelids felt so heavy and my eyes themselves chafed from all the crying, but a few more acid tears forced their way out from me. Time ticked by at a snail's pace, but neither of us moved until Britain let out a sigh. I ran my hand down to his nape.

"We'll be fine." He whispered. He cleared his throat, pulling a determined expression on as a mask. "We can cure him," he added, his voice reflecting more sureness.

My arms slid down and Britain moved back to his own square of the couch, although he still looked so small by himself.

"What are we going to do now?" My gravelly throat cracked.

"You can ask Russia if we can visit him earlier," Britain murmured. "And answer any more of America's messages."

"Okay…"

"Let's just… bring in everything first."

"Yes…"

We slipped away silently to bring in all the plants into America's kitchen. There, we filled the sink with water and put the plants in it, cut ends down.

"Just for now," Britain exhaled, wiping his face and pulling his skin down as he did so. "I will deal with it tomorrow…"

His eyes were glazed over as he shuffled out of the room with feet that dragged and scraped on the floor. I was on his heels as we returned to my home and closed up everything on America's side.

"Shower," Britain stated suddenly, remembering the procedure past the haze of emotions. "We should clean ourselves up and put on some clean clothes."

I nodded slowly. My shower was efficient; I didn't linger to enjoy what could have been hot water soothing my stressed muscles or clouding my mind with thick steam until I couldn't remember what haunted me next door. As Britain borrowed my shower, I curled up on the couch with America's laptop. This was a need I found, to do his work on his computer and mine on my own. It didn't feel right otherwise, not when I wanted the identities to be separate wherever I could make them.

I combated the workload before touching personal messages. After some time had passed, I heard Britain in the kitchen, scavenging through my cabinets until he was able to prepare some hot tea, which he brought to the coffee table once prepared.

"Thank you," I murmured without looking up. There was still too much work to do.

He _hmmed_ in response. He hovered over my shoulder; I sensed him looking down on me, mulling over words in his troubled mind. His words were slow to come as they were finally released from his lips, "I hope it isn't too difficult, the work..."

"The work… No, I can manage," I assured him as surely as I could.

I watched him from the corner of my eye as he crossed his arms and stared off. Everything that bothered me was around his eyes, the lines under and between them that exposed so much. He looked haunted, and right then it looked as though he would always be troubled by this, perhaps not to this degree, but as a re-emerging memory which was likely to bother him on lonely nights in far-off futures.

 _Unless, he is thinking about the other time too_. _But he never said exactly when it happened… But if it was long ago, why can't he forget it if everyone is okay? Him and whoever was burned… Why are they still troubled by it all?_

I quickly sent off the last thing I was working on, before I set the laptop to the side. Britain was not okay, even if I didn't understand his experiences, this fact remained. He needed this comfort, so I slipped my arms around him and dragged him across the couch to me. The response was immediate and he held me tight around the middle, pressed in his face, and inhaled.

"But _you're_ okay," he whispered. "I still have you and I promise that you matter to me. Even if you will pretend to be America, I won't forget…"

I felt a warmth in my heart that someone had said this to me, when so often I was forgotten and ignored. The steam of the tea drifted off as I pet his hair again, until he breathed, " _Please don't let anything happen to yourself._ "

I paused. "Of course, Britain. I promise I will be careful…"

He let go but didn't go anywhere. He slid his cup of tea closer and sipped from it, while my arm remained draped loosely around him. I felt him relax slightly over the minutes, so I placed the laptop into my lap and continued, typing with the fingers of my one hand bouncing over the keyboard.

 _Hey Russia_

Almost instantly I got a response, which absolutely spooked me.

 _Yes?_

So I replied, _Wow you're up late_

 _I am going to sleep now… What is it you want?_

"Russia's online right now," I told Britain. "I'm talking to him."

He turned his attention onto the conversation. I grew a little unsure if Britain would think I was writing wrong as America, but he was quiet as I continued.

 _I know it's like out of nowhere but can I come over earlier?_

 _Earlier? You said you were too busy last time._

I wrote, _Don't have to do it anymore_

There was a minute where Russia did not reply, where I wondered anxiously if he was becoming suspicious of my request.

Then, _Ok. What day will you be arriving?_

 _Hey wait I have a question_

 _What?_

 _Can Britain come too?_

There was another pause where I felt again that he was considering my words.

He answered, _Why does he want to come suddenly?_

I felt that mentioning the cake was a poor reason. I needed to be more honest.

 _He wants to do some sightseeing_

Russia was quick. _Why doesn't he ask to come more often by himself?_

My hand froze over the keyboard. "I don't know what to say…"

I looked to Britain but he didn't have any suggestions. "I don't know…" he mumbled. "I think he's offended."

 _Idk but he's asking now_ , I wrote.

Russia countered, _I think he wants to come because you are._

I hesitated for too long and Russia continued.

 _He doesn't want to visit me alone._

Britain shifted in discomfort and I wrinkled my eyebrows, since Russia was technically right.

 _But can he come? He might enjoy his stay_

 _No._

We both jolted in surprise. "No?" Britain gasped. "Why would he say no?"

I frantically typed, _No? Why not?_

 _He does not trust me to come alone._ _I want him to visit only if he will treat me like friend._

"It looks like a lost cause," Britain sighed. "I'll have to go later by myself if I really want to search for plants."

"But… what about me?"

"You might be stuck now," he admitted. "If you turn him down now, you'll be more American than you need to be, pissing him off like that."

"Well… I guess going earlier doesn't make a difference if there's nothing for me to do now, but do business with other nations."

"That's a good way of looking at it."

So I typed, _Fine then, just me. How about sep 1?_

 _Yes this is perfect. Send me pictures of your ticket._

Britain pressed into me again although he spoke only in a serious manner, "You go visit him and make a good impression. We don't have to worry about the plants he has there. It would probably take too long to search that country anyway, so let's just stick with what I know works."

"Well… Alright then," I sighed. "But… I just hope I can pull off tricking Russia in person."

"You'll have your coloured contacts."

"I know, but if he senses that something is off…"

"It doesn't matter. You'll end up being strange to him because you'll naturally want to be kind, but he will only enjoy that."

I put both arms around him and clasped my hands. My head, which felt the weight of my exhaustion, fell towards him and into his hair. The coldness of America was harder to recall when there was living warmth here. Yet there was still anxiety lingering inside me and a new fear as the next phase was underway: his possible switch to aggression.

"What will America be like tomorrow?" I asked.

"I don't know," Britain answered in a whisper. "I don't want to tell you anything anymore because I just... don't know."

"Will he try to escape? Try to hurt us?"

"He might… But it doesn't mean that he will succeed."

Britain lifted his head and looked into my eyes. I could not focus on his gaze though, when his past experiences were still carved in the lines around his eyes. With a tight voice, I inquired, "What should I do if he escapes?"

Britain shook his head. "Do whatever it takes to lock him back up. Hurt him if you must, if your life is in danger."

My quivering frown touched his hair and my throat stiffened again.

"It'll be alright," Britain murmured. I couldn't tell anymore if these words were empty promises or not. "He shouldn't even get the chance to try and hurt you."

"Mmm…"

"You are afraid, but I understand. You don't want to live here anymore."

I hadn't really thought it, but he was right. The building had become no longer two homes, but the prison of a horrendous, incomprehensible secret.

"I saw that shovel on the wall down there. You could use that or… well, you know the kinds of things America has on his side."

I tugged at him and shook my head. _I don't want to hurt him any more. I don't want to talk about this..._

As though he had read my thoughts, or perhaps because he had thought them himself, Britain ended that subject.

"I shall stay with you tonight," Britain decided. "You will feel safer that way, won't you?"

 _Yes_ , I thought. _Two people are more likely to hear something. Two can defend each other too._

"And that bear of yours…"

My eyes widened and I sat up abruptly. I had completely forgotten about him, yet Kumajiro had never come to meet us nor comfort me. I scanned all around me in panic, searching for him or the explanation for his abnormal behaviour. I hopped away from the couch and whipped my head from one direction to another, although as hard as I looked, there was no sign of him in the room.

"Where is he?" I gasped. "Why didn't he-"

Without even completing my own yelp, I dashed to the doorway and poked my head out into the hall. Down an empty hallway, I hollered, " _Kumachanko_?"

Britain was startled by my alarm and he had jumped up as well. Leaping to my side, he threw out his arms and demanded, "He can't open doors, can he?"

In an instant, my blood felt frosted and I snapped back to Britain. "But he couldn't have… I mean- he doesn't go there often!" I blabbered. "We-we were upstairs for a while! We never saw him- he couldn't have gotten past us…"

"You check here," Britain said, "I'll check America's side."

"No, not alone!" I protested. "America's side first… together."

Just as we were in the midst of mobilizing however, the floor behind us creaked. We jumped and turned as from the doorway I had just called from, Kumajiro slipped in. One paw was stiffly placed in front of the other, and he cranked up his head to behold me with two wide, black eyes shining more than usual with the light of the ceiling.

"There you are…" I murmured as I knelt down before him. "I'm sorry that I forgot about you… Where have you been? What's wrong?"

I began petting him when he continued looking at me with an unusual expression of fright. It took me only seconds to feel the shaking under his fur, whereupon I immediately gasped, "What happened?"

There was no response given by him. Instead, Kumajiro lay down and squeezed his eyes shut, blocking even me out as he dragged his heavy paws over his head.

I flashed a terrified gaze to Britain. "He's covering his ears. W-why is he doing that?"

Britain eyes shifted from me to the door. Still for a moment, then snapping toward it, I had to stumble after Britain with my frail and fluttering heart. With one precise movement, Britain quickly unlocked the door to America's side. There was a charge of white past me but no time for me to comprehend it. It was only in the next moment after Britain had yelped, I processed Kumajiro slamming into him.

Britain was so easily felled that I had no time to catch him. He managed to land rather softly but nevertheless gazed over at the small polar bear in shock. His look changed to dread when Kumajiro sank back down and covered his ears once again.

"Something's happened," Britain breathed. "America must be making some sort of noise that he doesn't like."

I looked back and forth between them both. To see Kumajiro like this, despite all that Britain might say, brought me into a profound panic.

"Britain, we shouldn't go over there!"

"We need to know what's going on, Canada! If there is a problem, it needs to be fixed _now_. Otherwise, a larger problem will be on our hands!"

Britain dove at the door and opened it. Kumajiro rose sturdy as a mountain and blocked the opening with his mass. Past his upright fur though, we could see nothing amiss in the home we had left not so long ago.

"I'm scared," I whispered. "I-I… I don't hear anything."

Kumajiro lay and covered his ears again. Britain shook his head.

"Sh-shh…" he said. "Let's listen."

We strained our ears as all three of us went quiet. Slowly, I picked up a faint moaning, alike the one that America had first made to get my attention. Only then, Kumajiro had not minded it at that time. There was a difference to note in the way it sounded; I could not determine the emotions behind it.

"I hear him," I whispered. "But it sounds different. That's why Kumajiro is bothered."

Britain exhaled, "It… does not sound intelligent."

That was the description I had been trying to pin down. With a twitch, I thought, _It sounds truly, like a horror movie zombie._

"He's chained up still," Britain continued. "Just making some sounds, he is. It happened last time too… with my last case I mean. He was loud, so let's not worry about this."

"But I can't help but worry! Just like that, America is… You were right. Oh god, it's really happening…"

Britain took in a big inhale before he bounded over Kumajiro, giving him no chance to predict or prevent his intentions. I too was shocked, reaching out and calling, "Britain-"

Kumajiro sprang at me, choosing me out of the two to catch. I struck the ground in a desperate struggle against his sinking weight, pushing at his fat while trying not to hurt him. My head turned and observed Britain standing alone in the room, still so small and vulnerable in my eyes. I crawled away from Kumajiro toward him, crying out against my companion, "No, get off, please! Britain- Britain!"

I rolled away from Kumajiro and scampered after Britain. Fortunately, he had not gone far but was merely stopped in the living room. He turned to me with his finger on his lips and I halted, catching my breath and trying to allow my adrenaline levels to decrease. I reached out though and took hold of his arm, although froze to take a listen.

"Quieter now," Britain whispered. "I think I know what is going on."

He stepped in the direction of the basement door. My grip tightened and I tugged back, arguing, "W-we shouldn't go down!"

Britain focused his gaze upon mine. "But we can't be afraid of doing something like that. He _does_ need to be checked on periodically, after all. But no, not this time. I won't go down because I don't need to for what I wish to confirm."

Still holding him close to me, we stalked closer to the door. The moans became quieter still until I strained all that I could, but heard nothing at all.

"He gets quieter the closer we come," Britain murmured. "Do you know what this means, Canada?"

The first time America had moaned, it had been to attract me and the volume had only changed after he had seen or heard me coming. _This_ was an entirely different matter. I faltered, feeling absolutely weak in the knees. I didn't understand, but I knew exactly what this meant. I nodded to his green eyes but was too petrified by fear to answer.

Because of his experience however, Britain managed to say it. We walked back away from the silent, dark-wood door and he breathed the words to me that I no longer wanted to hear.

"Yes… It seems that upon the moment of his loss of consciousness, America has become able to know _exactly_ where we are."


	6. Chapter 6

No number of closed doors could make me feel safer from the monster next door. _Monster_ , I had truly thought before I could stop myself, since this was not my brother anymore. It was the same unidentifiable creature that Britain's friend had also once become, an unexplainable being that was sure to become more violent over the days.

With the fear governing my thoughts, it was in hardly any time before I had gathered us all in my bedroom, locking us in to protect and guard each other. Britain lay down on the other side of the bed and slipped under the covers, and when I was assured that he was settled there with me, I tucked myself in. Kumajiro crawled across the bed to lay between us, a large centerpiece to the bed, curled up with his warmth touching both me and Britain. No longer did he cover his ears and tremble either, since he could not hear America when he was so far away.

My mind became filled with the sounds of a nightmare we perhaps could not hear; shrieks and growls and the rattle of chains as he pulled to try to escape. Of course, this was ahead of myself, for perhaps America was not so strong and vicious at this stage. Regardless, the new events had come so swiftly that I was dizzy with panic in trying to adapt. Sorrow for someone then gaining an intense fear of them was a stressful transition to make. I began petting then snuggling Kumajiro in a feeble attempt to let the fresh memories fade.

Britain must have sensed my restless mind. "Don't be afraid of him, Canada," he murmured, his voice low. "I know it's frightening right now when he's making all those awful sounds, but I'm sure that he'll quiet down soon. Last time… Eventually he just went completely silent. Damage to the throat, you see..."

My voice fluctuated. "W-why is he m-making those... noises? _Why_?"

"Just desperation…" Britain whispered back to me in the dark. I could not see him past Kumajiro, but I imagined him on his back and staring wistfully up at the ceiling. "And I don't even know if he wants to attack us just yet. Perhaps, it is just panic- a bestial panic. That our presences trigger a powerful desire to heal, since we are whole and he is not."

"You just made it sound like he _does_ want to attack us," I muttered with a bitter edge, allowing him to be aware of my earnest doubt. "He wants what we have."

"I don't know… the last one was awful, started off worse than America, yet he did not attack until later."

"Why? What kept him from attacking if he was _always_ bad off?"

Britain's sigh drifted off into the dark. "I know I am here to provide my experience, but you ask so many questions… I regret to have to say again that I simply do not know _why_ he withheld attacking until later. I just know that it was our parts he wanted…"

I gulped and felt my stomach churn as Britain continued with his breath passing from his lips like a breeze, "He just tried so hard to put the flesh onto himself… just holding it and not even looking at me anymore. I felt… awful. In pain of course, but... I was sad because he was just so desperate to heal. I still think that he could not think at all but, it just felt like there was a sort of emotion there. Perhaps just one emotion. As if… he wanted to be healthy again even if it meant harming me."

I blinked rapidly then sat up. "Why didn't you say any of this before? Are you saying that America _can_ still think?"

"No… Yes perhaps, but I mean not in the way that the America you know thinks. It is illogical though, and I don't understand so it is hard to explain the facts. You can only receive my guesses, really, on these matters."

My hands twisted in the blankets. "But I want your thoughts! I think you were right because there is logic here. Maybe he did not attack because he knew who you were, to some sort of degree, and did not want to hurt you. I mean, just think about how he tried to do something that requires thought. He _was_ thinking about a cure to his condition, and when he became too desperate, he hurt you. He didn't try to kill you like a regular zombie."

"I am aware of the logic and that there was method… But you didn't need to hear this. I wanted you to be cautious, not hopeful. Canada… keep him in chains. He will not spare you in the future."

My heart sank as though it had been anchored at sea. I noticed the accelerated beating of my heart and knew that I had become too excited over this.

"The point is," Britain said, "that you have to be more careful than I was. I let him stay in the living room because he did not attack me at first and it never seemed like he would."

"I know…" My voice lowered itself as I remembered the moans shifting in volume due to our presence. The memory spooked me and a chill raced down my spine, making it difficult to trust America. "But," I persisted, "I don't like that you are keeping such important information from me just because you fear for my safety. Is there anything else that you think of now? Please, Britain, tell me all of your ideas…"

"There is no more to say about thoughts or knowledge, I promise. But, of course, I have to keep some information from you. I will still not tell you the identity of the person or when it happened."

Kumajiro rubbed his nose into me. I lifted my arm to pet him, whereupon he slid his broad head onto my chest. I expected his high-pitched voice to inquire something, but he was so uncomfortably quiet when scared by something. He nuzzled me, seeming to have a concern for me because of all Britain had said. Instantly I felt guilt because of my continued ignorance, forgetting how I was worrying everyone around me.

I whispered gently, "I will never let him free until he is cured, I promise, Britain. I mean it."

After a pause where my body could only grow cold in the serious atmosphere, Britain breathed, "Canada… I'm sorry that I will leave soon. And that I will leave you with him."

"It's okay, Britain," I assured him quietly as to help him relax. "I won't be alone when I have Kuma with me."

Britain went quiet but this time, it felt as though that was alright. We had been talking for so long, discussing problems and the things we could not answer. Silence, in large amounts, was promising since it could mean that there would be no more difficulties to consider. I felt myself able to sink just a bit into the mattress and I remembered the weight of my eyelids, heavy after all the crying I had done.

 _We, not I_. I glanced in the direction of Britain, knowing that the other side of the bed was occupied by an exhausted body.

"We need to rest," I murmured, trying to follow in his footsteps and focus on the necessary, practical things. "Let's get some sleep…"

"Yes," he mumbled in agreement. "For as long as we can… let us rest."

I let my eyelids close together and was immediately surprised by how the darkness pulled me into it. Flashes of thoughts of America found me, but so quickly I was unintentionally dragged away from reality. My body had suffered through so much stress today and could no longer remain awake. Not when for the time being, I was safe.

There could be however, no stretch of peaceful darkness. Behind my eyelids, I witnessed flashes of movie scenes, where zombies reached their peeled and discoloured hands towards the screen. The _Walking Dead_ came on screen but slowly, the TV drew closer. The screen grew larger and larger until all that be seen seen were grotesque faces and clacking jaws. The moans grew louder still and drummed in my ears, circling around and around me until I felt that I was the one spinning. I eventually became cognizant of branches underfoot and the dampness of topsoil, realizing then that I had arrived.

The forest of mixed wood resounded with the screeches of the dead. The faces returned, emerging through heather with yellow nails outstretched toward not characters, but me. A twirl made me aware that I was utterly alone and unarmed as a ring grew tighter.

I shot between four arms and sped through the forest, throwing branch after branch behind me. Unseen growls arose all around me and my desperation heightened. I yanked and tore to get myself forward, until I stumbled into a laden field of corn. Here too, rasps and growls rose from places concealed behind the wall of green. My eyes locked on ahead and I clawed and pushed forward as fast as I could, seeing no other option.

A misty thought hovered in my mind and made me aware that this was a dream. I ran in slow motion while the sounds pelted towards me, until bony fingers poked through the stalks on either side and grazed me. I felt streaks of black grease scrape my arms, before I tripped out into open space, grasping at only the air.

A small, wooden house sat nestled on the green grass, welcoming, inviting me with an open door. I skittered for it without looking back, only hearing the dragging of broken ankles pursuing me and feeling obligated. Upon diving through and locking the door behind me however, the thickest of silences descended. Although the sounds had only been metres beyond the house, all traces of the undead had vanished.

I looked around the elegantly furnished room I had landed in. Almost everything was carved from wood and clean, visibly pleasing and homely. A table across the room held a vase upon it, flowers with such a burst of colour that I was attracted to them. Only upon coming closer, I realized they were thornless roses, which I carefully began stroking.

" _I have to do something_."

I jumped and turned. "Britain?"

" _No one else can help…_ "

I hurried back toward the couch, but there was no one here.

" _No, no…_ " The fright pulled Britain's voice tighter. " _We can't tell anyone…_ "

I tore toward a staircase and snatched onto the railing. "Britain? B-Britain!"

I ascended the stairs, but every step I climbed brought the world into a deeper haze. The wood smeared and my vision tunneled to darkness. _Where were the stairs? Was I even climbing any higher? Why? -_

With a lung-shattering gasp, everything disappeared and my dark ceiling greeted me. The silence was filled by the dreaming grunts of Kumajiro beside me, but the rest of the house seemed to be in quiet peace. I sat up and glanced around. I stretched up to check on Britain, but before even glimpsing him, I heard his voice.

" _I don't know what to do… I don't know…_ "

My eyes widened. _He's been talking in his sleep the whole time. What I heard in my dream was him! Britain… he's dreaming about the last time_.

I reached over Kumajiro and touched Britain's head. He did not feel it right away, but moaned softly, " _What if I can't do it?_ "

"You can," I answered gently, petting his hair and trying to penetrate his dream. "You've already done it."

Britain finally fell quiet. I watched him rest peacefully for a bit before I settled down myself. When I fell asleep this time, there were no more horrifying dreams. The act of comforting him had reflected back upon me. In that way, the rest of the night passed easily and woke naturally, although we both immediately had America on our minds.

I sat up when Britain did, looking over the blinking ball of fur to him. With a throat dry from slumber, I whispered, "I want to see him right now. I-I think seeing him will help me… Let me know that it isn't so bad…"

"It will be bad," Britain contradicted me. "If not now, then later. But seeing him in chains will make you feel safer at least, in that you are correct."

We pulled ourselves out of bed and although still clad in our pyjamas, Britain opened the door to America's side a few minutes later. On this morning, Kumajiro did not bar us, but lingered back and watched us stride through into the soft moans. He seemed stiff as I passed him, but the lowered volume of the moans and the lack of harm done to us yesterday must have calmed his nerves.

"Goodness," Britain commented as we proceeded towards the ever-quieting calls. "I don't believe that he has stopped once during the entire night."

Britain unlocked this door as well and took the lead down the stairs. The moans cut off abruptly and I swallowed, holding onto Britain and following him. I unintentionally eyed up the shovel against the wall, confirming its position, before I regarded America.

His emaciated face was stiffly pointed in our direction, eyes unblinking and mouth hanging. I trembled at the gauntness of his body, the greyness of his skin, and the black colouring of his legs. Ink dots were scattered over him, hairy legs zipping over flesh and diving under clothes. I slapped a hand over my mouth and quaked as some dots gathered by his eyes.

I felt my stomach clenching as I inhaled the concentrated stench, sure that I was on the verge of vomiting. Britain quickly turned me away and gripped me tight. Before he could even say his usual words, I choked, "I know there's nothing we can do, b-but... I can't bear to look. He's falling apart."

In spite of this, a chill jolted me and I looked back. America was continuing to stare right at us, not moving in the slightest. His ribs were still and eyelids were held in place. I happened to make eye contact and it felt entirely as though he was looking right back at me, despite his blindness. It also seemed all so very much that he was thinking something awful, like another brain was sitting in his skull that did not belong to America.

 _Yes… he doesn't look mindless but… focused on one thing only. Like a predator wanting only to kill._

Britain walked toward him on an angle, causing America to turn his head and follow his movement. I stepped after Britain as he came closer to America. The alertness of my brother unnerved me to no end, where he straightened himself up and leaned forward when approached. The chains pulled tight but he did not struggle to break them, only leaning as far as he could to be closer to us.

I had not focused on the details to spare myself from stress, but Britain observed, "Some parts of him _do_ look better. You patched up his leg, didn't you? Well, I think the broken bone just might be healed."

I focused my gaze upon his dark leg wrapped with sports tape to the wood. Britain squat down and felt it, before he pried at the tape and began unraveling it. We both twitched when skin peeled off with it, but I gawked when Britain continued to remove it.

"S-stop!" I yelped.

America stared at us without acknowledgement as to what was happening.

"The skin's already dead," Britain replied. "It doesn't matter so much."

"But the bugs!"

"There's nothing we can do about them. No matter how hard we try."

Britain yanked it all off then threw the tape away. He shifted America's leg by the foot, turning and lifting it to confirm that it was stiff and connected.

"Why did you take it off?" I moaned, regarding the raw, revolting red patch ringing his leg. They resembled rope burns that had softened and become discoloured by infection.

"They have to come off sometime," he replied. "He might be able to heal this part."

The chains clicked. I snapped my head to the side as America extended his neck, bringing his face towards me.

" _Hgeeehh_ …"

I leapt back as his yellow teeth clacked. America reopened his mouth and released another groan.

" _Hyeeah…_ "

"H-he isn't saying anything this time," I murmured. "I know it..."

The urge to cover my ears like Kumajiro had was strong, for it put me into such unease to have to hear the sounds. Even when they were so quiet, like whispers.

"Look, his leg _is_ healed," Britain carried on regardless. "The bone is connected."

I moved away from America, but breathed, "I can't believe it… He is healing but at the same time he is getting so much worse…"

"At a point, he'll get no better or worse."

I remembered Britain saying this before, but I still did not want to know what the worst stage would be.

"C-can we… go now, Britain? I've seen enough."

"Yes, yes… We see that there is no problem. Let's head back."

Britain took hold of the shovel and brought it upstairs with him. I bit my lip but did not argue. I was however, startled when Britain held the door open to the basement.

"What we ought to do," Britain stated, "is air out this place whenever we can. You simply cannot have guests when it stinks like this."

Britain kept the door open with a remote pressed into the crack. I aided him in opening all the windows, but worry nagged at me to have the door wide open like it was.

"I think that I shall clean up this place," Britain decided. "A good scrub of everything and plenty of air fresheners should put us on the right track."

"So you won't look for more plants today?"

"I will- tonight precisely, but first things first, I'll prepare and boil up the ingredients we have into something more useful. Just keep it all in the fridge for me after that and don't touch it."

"Okay… And how long will that take, Britain?"

"Hours. Best that we have a good breakfast and you do your work."

Britain and I crept away from this side, at least closing the connecting door as some sort of barrier to the stench. Ravenous, we ate first then dressed for the day. Since there was no need to make an American appearance, I kept my hair loose and ungelled, although had taken the scissors to my hair to fix up a few flaws.

Just as I was about to settle on the couch, America's cellphone rang and I scooped it up. Kumajiro sat beside me and I combed the fur of his head while I threw on an accent for America's boss. It was calming as I acted carefree and arrogant, but soon I grew confident in my voice and the pressure slid away. Nothing was suspected as I spoke as I would have written to him.

Britain paused in the doorway of the kitchen. I had caught sight of him in my peripheral vision, his lean figure touching the wood and standing still as he observed me. I did not move however, keeping him in my sights to get me accustomed to others watching. For a few minutes even, he remained there like a statue, as I managed to delay a meeting with the president.

After I hung up, I gave myself a shake and shifted my attention onto Britain. His green eyes were opened in shock, although an admirable kind. His arm dropped to his side and he murmured, "Simply… incredible."

I bowed my head, unsure of what to feel about his words. Without lingering on the subject however, he wandered off toward the door. Britain glanced past his shoulder and held the door open halfway when he called back, "I'll see you later."

I nodded and repeated, "See you…"

After that door closed again, I listened for a moment. I could hear nothing however, except for a soft clatter in the distant kitchen that came after a minute. In separation, I stayed in Kumajiro's company and accomplished much on the computer and through phone calls. When lunchtime came around, I rose to check in on Britain. Immediately upon entering America's home, I was struck by the evermore powerful odour of decay that had traveled up the stairs. I strode through it into the kitchen, where it was tamed slightly by the peculiar scent of cooked plants.

Britain stood stirring a simmering pot, his appearance likening a wizard in my mind. Just for a second, I imagined him in a dark stone room, stirring a coloured liquid a cauldron. That image was whisked away when a throaty moan rose over the steady sounds of boiling. Although still quieter than yesterday, I shivered at the noise of the monster.

Britain glanced at me when I came near him, then he turned back to his work. He told me, "He started right up again soon after I came back."

"Are you bothered?"

"I'm just trying to ignore it."

I might have offered him ear plugs or music, but I wanted him to be alert.

"Are you almost done here?" I asked him instead.

"Yes, then I'll get cleaning."

I hung by the counter, watching the pulpy, red mixture within the pot. With a peek into the sink, I realized that none of the plants remained. Everything had been reduced into the concoction as scarlet as the thistley leaves when first picked.

"You could take a break," I proposed. "I want to take Kumajiro outside so…"

"Alright."

After this agreement, I stayed by him and became unsettled by the moans within minutes, wondering how Britain had been able to cope with them. I watched him when he poured the mixture into a plastic container then cleaned up the area. Then, I led him out of this home at a fast pace.

Kumajiro bounded on ahead into the yard, leaving the two of us to observe him while standing near the door. The bear's attitude had changed so much, now that he was out in the fresh air and separated from the confines of the condemned building. As he lumbered around and sniffed at the corners, I couldn't help but sigh to Britain, "Things don't usually bother him, you know… He doesn't think about the same thing for so long. He often forgets what is going on, my name… This whole thing must be awful for him if he thinks about this all the time."

"At least he understands what has happened," Britain murmured. "It would be worse if he couldn't understand our words."

A tad absent-minded in viewing the joyous relief of Kumajiro, my thoughts immediately slipped out my mouth.

"Should I keep him here?" I asked. "I don't want him to be so stressed."

"It's better that he stays with you to protect you," Britain replied.

I went silent, understanding and fearing the thought of being alone. I imagined myself asleep and ignorant as America shuffled into my room, black mouth gaping and arms stretched out like those zombies in my dream. I twitched then breathed, "Alright, but if we go anywhere far… Kumajiro can stay with my boss. He enjoys that. It is better than leaving him alone with America…"

A pause went by before he said, "I don't believe America has any interest in him though. If we are gone, I doubt that he would even make a sound."

With my eyes on the white leaping across the yard, I inquired, "Where else do we have to go? You only have a few more days left."

"Yes… Gatineau and Quebec City."

"In Quebec?" I looked to him. "You know of plants there?"

He nodded.

I continued, "And you mean Gatineau Park? And… Do you mean _in_ Quebec City or in the national park near it?"

"Yes to both. The name of the other park escapes me at the moment, but it is marked down."

"Jacques-Cartier National Park… We should take the train. Those places are far away."

"Well, there isn't much more for me to find here. We could take our time you know, to give your companion more time away from here."

I sensed that there was an unsaid _and you_ that Britain had decided against adding. I thought however, of how we would leave America alone.

"What if America escapes?" I inhaled with a jolt of worry.

"He won't," Britain answered. "I'm fairly certain because he could not regain so much strength in that time… But even if he did, he would only try to find us. So, losing him is not a problem and fighting him off shouldn't be too difficult."

"It wasn't difficult to fight off the last one when he attacked you, was it?"

Britain shifted his gaze away from me, breaking eye contact. "It was a task, if I will be honest, but consider again that a lot of time had passed by so he had become stronger. Additionally, I didn't have the heart to harm him so it wasn't so simple. He was wrestled into some ropes then that was the end of it."

I knew Britain could not provide me with the answer, but I thought, _With America though, are chains even strong enough? What could we use that is stronger than chains?_

"Anyway," Britain said. "Come with me whenever I leave. And when I am really gone, take a lot of breaks like these. America, meaning you, cannot be stressed. That would be suspicious and a weakness. Now, America was quieter today, but if he continues we'll stuff a… a cloth down his throat. A quiet house and one that smells decent, will pair well with your eye contacts."

I nodded. It wasn't like America needed to breathe or felt pain regardless.

When we came inside, we ended up proceeding with this idea. Kumajiro was left in safety and after swiping a dish towel from the closet, Britain and I padded down the stairs toward the softening moans. I stayed back as Britain approached America with the dish towel, reaching out to the face already stretched out to him.

I wavered, whispering, "Did… the last one ever bite?"

"Yes," Britain muttered.

I hurried up to him, standing close enough to yank him back if America snapped. America went silent for a moment, looking in our direction with a stiff neck. Britain bit his lip with his canine and held onto America's cheek carefully, despite muscles tensed to spring back. He did not react. Britain stayed bent over, waiting until America dropped open his mouth to moan again. I could tell that he wasn't eager to stick in his fingers to pry open the jaws himself.

Without minding the hand upon him, America twitched toward Britain's face. His jaw fell down like a stone and the moan that followed was a rough bellow. Instantly Britain jumped back with a gasp, fright painted on his face as he struggled to comprehend that he was safe. He too, for a moment, had forgotten that America was in chains. As I held my hand over my thundering heart, I realized that Britain was also regarding America like he was something else entirely.

While America continued to stretch and moan after us, Britain crept back trembling. He grabbed America quickly by the throat and jammed the cloth into his mouth, pushing and not touching his lips or teeth. The sounds promptly were garbled and nearly muted, although America, who felt nothing at all, continued working his mouth around the towel. Britain pushed it deeper still, wedging it firmly in place. When he felt that it would not fall out easily, he stepped back.

He had not paid attention to where he had put his hand, and I had watched it press into the patch of black softness on his neck that resembled the bruise of a fruit. It was where a cut had been, but had healed over and then decayed, leaving dark colours and dried blood. Britain now regarded his hand with disturbed disgust, as it was covered in grease like that of a rotted banana. America leaned softly, noticing nothing different with himself as he tried to come near us. Britain turned away from him and headed toward the stairs, holding his hand out at a distance.

I followed him, cradling my stomach and trying to forget the opaque eyes and grey skin of America's face. It was his appearance and actions that frightened and bothered me the most, the images flickering through my mind. I could hardly think that we had just shoved a cloth down America's throat. America, my brother. In life, he would have choked and struggled to remove it. It would have hurt, tears would have come to his eyes- and yet it had been easy to do today. I knew I should have felt guilt, but it just did not feel like it had really been done.

America seemed to exist somewhere else. Not in another place, but I was certain that he was waiting for us in a future time. What was left behind with me was a creature in my basement to be feared. Mindless, and more frightening than an animal because of its focus. More and more, my mind was separating America into two entities because just nothing of him was present. The cocky smiles, the confident glint in his eyes, the radiance of strength, his relaxed speech…

My sadness was fading away as I climbed away from the corpse. America was alive, I felt it and believed it, but only time would allow us to meet him again.

* * *

We traveled through the woods at midnight, collecting these small, white flowers that glowed in the moonlight. For bones, Britain had explained to me. On the next occasion, when we traveled to Gatineau, there were purple roses that hid themselves- for the heart. The curly fern of Jacques-Cartier National Park did not look special, but had been invisible until picked. For vision, apparently.

In just a short amount of time, I was overwhelmed to find out that Britain needed _a lot_ of material. The body was a complex thing, and now I understood fully why he needed all this time. Consequently, I felt relieved that Britain had been clever enough to mark down the locations. In my country, everything had been found in its expected area and all retrievals were efficient.

I took Kumajiro back home after we had spent some time away. Since the silence of America, he was in a much better mood and was able to forget about him as he went about his day. The house had remained safe additionally, for America was still in his spot, albeit thinner and darker than usual. His blood had sunk yet the paleness of his face had dimmed regardless. The rot had not ended and the features of his body had changed so much that it was becoming difficult to identify him. This cadaver that weakly extended itself toward us, with a towel half-dangling from out its mouth, could have been anybody else.

Which did not ease my nightmares of zombies in the slightest. During the nights, I ran forever. Sometimes I found that relaxing shelter, while other times, I never found it. One time, I dreamt about Britain in the stone basement like I had previously imagined, stirring a black cauldron hanging over a fire. He was wearing a black robe with the hood pulled over his head, his eyes flashing bright whenever he looked up and the fire was reflected in them. Although, my unconsciousness could not give him a cool confidence. His gaze that I espied was frightened still.

Britain talked in his sleep occasionally in those nights beside me. His words changed slightly after I got my contacts and after he had seen me wearing them. He forgot a little about the situation, whenever the time for sleep came. His mind tried to bring him whatever happiness that it could in the times where America grew weaker and more decayed. Sometimes, in his fatigue when accidentally roused in the night, he mistook me for America. My dismay always heightened then, and guilt washed over me as I felt that I was to take some blame, in relaying to Britain that I was not him.

He did not need further explanations. Always when he saw my eyes, his face would drop as he remembered everything. To avoid more of these occasions, I tried not to wear the contacts in his presence. I could not help speaking on the phone however, with Germany, Japan, and China when they called. Britain heard me and I knew it all plagued him, for whenever he was out of the room, he could not help but drift in. As logical as he presented himself, there was always illogicalness in hope.

It was so that after many days, I wished that he would go home. It was hard for him to believe for those frequent instances that America was alive, then to be reminded that he was sitting in the basement with dark specks burrowing into his flesh. It was perhaps easier to think that he was not constantly dead like Britain had said before. Grimly, I found myself fortunate that I never forgot that America was not with us.

The stench began to fade the thinner America grew. With the cleaning that I helped Britain do, the odour of the house likened more and more like garbage that needed to be taken out. The new silence of America made it at least possible that I could hold unexpected guests, granted that I closed the door to the basement first. No one had yet come however, guaranteed since now I left my house in silence so that I could hear the doorbell go off on the other side. Therefore, the door and windows remained open, with more of the smell drifting away through the screens.

I was able to check on America more often once I felt that he was truly weaker than I had imagined. He never did much but lean toward us and try to produce noise. I didn't think that he was even able to stand. Of course, my worries found me at night, but never when I looked at him. He had grown so small that I believed that just one of my kicks looked like it could snap him in two. America's skin was soft and he looked brittle, with the skin pushing away from his nails and hair and making him look like a dusty mummy.

Britain had insisted upon tightening his chains before he left, because of how thin he had grown. I brought out the key and opened the lock, whereupon Britain pulled back the chains and I relocked them together. America swayed from one of us to the other, gurgling and pulling his lips back to reveal his teeth. Yet he could do nothing, and he sat back in his tighter restraints, have more difficulty moving than before.

"Take good care of the potion for me," Britain instructed me when he was up and gathering his luggage. "Keep it cold and don't spill it. We have the perfect amount and I would prefer not having to spend another week to find everything all again."

I nodded. I had no intention of even laying a hand on it.

Instead of taking a taxi, I drove him to the airport. I trailed him as far as I was allowed to go, then Britain hugged me and clapped me on the back. Of course, there were more warnings and comforting words. He couldn't help it; he worried for me. My throat tightened as he drifted away to go through security, but I stayed and we watched each other as he followed the line. He looked away once addressed by an employee, then he walked on through and disappeared from sight.

I walked hurriedly away as the tears welled up in my eyes. I strained to keep myself from crying, to practice containing my stress. I dodged the people, breathing with difficulty as I stalked back to where I had parked. Once inside the car, a few tears escaped me but I swallowed and pulled my face to distract myself. Roughly, I jammed in my seatbelt and started the car. The music was cranked up to a higher volume and I fled the scene.

It was at home where I felt the drive to practice. These tears wouldn't do when I had to be a proper America. Stationed in front of the mirror later that night, I fixed my hair into America's style, gelling and pushing everything into place. I put on his clothes, the contacts, and his glasses, then stared at myself for a minute. I could see absolutely no difference between what America had been and this. I moved my face and raised my hand to confirm again, that this was indeed me.

I leaned back, trying to look nonchalant as I addressed the mirror in America's dialect.

"Wassup?" I asked, although choked partially. I cleared my throat and tried to collect myself. "What'cha looking at? Yo, do you want to hit a Dunkin' Donuts?"

I threw some more random sentences at the mirror, trying to see how I looked while saying them. Part of me felt ridiculous, that I was trying too hard, but then when I saw myself it seemed utterly authentic.

"So, Russia, how do you make that cake? Okay so there's honey-

The chime of America's doorbell bled into my house and I went rigid. Then, I scrambled to the door, throwing it open then closed, and dashing into America's side. I hopped into the kitchen to shut and lock the basement door, yelling out to whomever was waiting on me, "Coming!"

I breathed deeply to control my breathing before I opened up the front door, the one that had not been touched in a while. My eyes looked to the air before I had to drop them down onto Latvia's small form.

"What?" I chipped. "Lil' dude, I thought I told you not to come over!"

I wondered if he could detect the odour wafting out the door, because it was difficult for me to tell anymore how bad it was. Latvia's face did not scrunch up however as he responded, "S-sorry but… Mr. R-Russia told me you weren't busy anymore so…"

"Why didn't you call me? Or message me?"

"I-I tried to message but you didn't answer… and I tried to call too but..."

I searched my mind. I could not recall seeing anything from Latvia, but I might have been distracted by the more pressing messages of the larger nations. I had not been around to answer the home phone either, the one I constantly forgot about, if that was what he had chosen to call. With a shake of my head, I sighed, "Whatever. So you wanted to talk to me?"

Latvia held onto himself and looked back at the bleeding sky. "Just for a bit… I don't want to bother you, really…"

I looked to the fat suitcase to his side that was nearly taller than he was. It was definitely for more than a few days. "So you still wanted to go on vacation somewhere?"

"Oh, yes please… If it isn't inconvenience to you. I-I know that you're going to Mr. R-Russia's but…"

"It's fine, you're not a problem." I shrugged. "Others though, sure. But not you, little buddy."

The term referring to his size obviously made him uncomfortable, and the guilt made me not want to say it again. _I don't have to be as rude as him. This is a time to change_.

"Latvia," I said. The clearness of my voice snapped him to obedient attention and I was surprised by this. He would never have done this for me. "You can go where you'd like, but I hope you've got a hotel booked because you've come at a bad time."

"N-not yet… I wasn't sure where I could be going. A-and I'm sorry… I really thought you weren't busy because-

"We can talk, but I'm warning you that the house just reeks. Like, nasty ass, bro. Better that you don't stay."

He cocked his head so I quickly lifted my shoulders. "There was a dead raccoon in the wall. Totally crazy, had to get it removed!"

"It's okay." Latvia nodded and grabbed onto the suitcase, tugging it in. I stepped back and closed the door, watching him as he glanced around and silently sniffed. Then, he looked back at me and shrugged. "I-it isn't so bad, Mr. America… and besides, sometimes it was smelling like this at Mr. Russia's house back when…"

He covered his mouth and corrected himself. "Ah, I shouldn't be saying these things..."

I wrinkled my eyebrows and squinted at him. " _Riiiight_ …"

Latvia twitched then dropped down to remove his shoes. I exhaled and once he stood up, waved him over to follow me to the dining table. I was glad that America had been gagged, because now Latvia could sit here with me in innocent silence. Otherwise, I would have never let him in. Now though, he presented me with his papers and I put myself into a serious American mind, one I had practiced enough to achieve now.

I spoke with him for an hour, before getting up and closing the windows once it got too chilly. Latvia followed me around, timid and expectant like a servant. I wondered how America treated him whenever he came over, but I felt that surely his behaviour was caused by Russia's actions and then America's neglect.

"Yo, jog my memory," I told him. "Have I ever let you stay the night here before?"

"Sleeping?" He looked surprised at the suggestion.

"Yes, what else?"

"Oh… no."

"Alright," I decided. "Save your money. I'll let you stay."

Latvia's wide eyes lit up. "R-really?"

I pursed my lips and nodded. As I tried to look casual about it, my mind imagined how nicely I could treat him. I doubted that hardly anyone ever gave him much attention, but now I could give him good food, time to rest on the couch, and a warm place to sleep. So long as he could truly put up with the smell of death.

"I'll drown the place with Febreze," I replied. "Then it'll be okay, right?"

"Y-yes." He gave me a small smile. "Thank you…"

I took his suitcase for him and led him to the spare bedroom of America's house. I snagged a Febreze bottle as promised, and went to work in the room. For the time being, I left this window open and put down some carpet freshener for good measure.

"This oughta do it." I swung the nozzle of the Febreze around my finger after I had picked it up again. "Now get yourself outta that suit and relax. We can Netflix and chill, but the right kind of chill, if you know what I mean."

Latvia looked lost but nodded neatly. He thanked me again, then ducked into the privacy of his own room. I trotted away and checked on the basement door again. Locked. Pressing my ear to the door, I confirmed that all was silent.

 _He's weak. Nothing will happen now._

I hopped around and sprayed the furniture, floors, and curtains with the Febreze. While Latvia took his time, I gathered up snacks from the junk-filled cabinets of America's home. There were chips, chocolate, and pop a plenty, to spread over the coffee table before the wide screen TV. Latvia padded out in simple clothes to the loading screen of Netflix, slow and cautious as though testing if he was allowed to come near. I had to wave him over again, a little disappointed that he moved out of obedience instead of excitement.

Latvia was nervous, regarding me with moon eyes. I knew I was not acting as America should and that was stressing him out, but this was no longer my concern.

"Relax, dude," I insisted. "I was thinking that we could be friends, you know."

"Friends?" And still the word seemed to unease him.

"Yep, why not? I don't see why we shouldn't be when we're not fighting each other."

"O-oh…"

But he was still stuck standing. I released an American laugh and cried, "Come on! Next time, we'll bring your Baltic buds and have a party. But for now, sit your ass down and help me eat these Doritos."

Latvia's lips quivered into a soft smile as he tentatively reached out to take a Dorito from the bag I had offered. I directed him to the couch and I plopped beside him. We engaged in small talk and settled in for a movie, and others would have assumed that my joy and enthusiasm were real, not the concocted fake persona of hair gel, contacts, and the heavy weight of the truth of the basement below our feet.

I lounged back and crossed my legs as I thought, _I hope America doesn't manage to dislodge his gag tonight. Hard to blame those sounds on the raccoons._

I hoped the morning would arrive soon.


	7. Chapter 7

I had equipped Latvia with a glass of water after the last of his preparations for bed had been made. The objective was to keep him confined in his room with no excuse to leave it while I proceeded with my business. I waited regardless, for half an hour before I crept over to my home.

All the things that I would need had been left there: my contacts, the phones, computers, and shovel. I carefully pushed open the door and leapt back and forth between the homes, putting the electronics onto the table first. I pocketed a box of contacts then, peeking to make sure Latvia hadn't wandered out of his room, I crept inside with the shovel gripped by white-knuckled hands.

The shovel was left in America's room, where I intended to spend the night. _Just in case_. I couldn't be the ignorant horror movie character; not when I wanted to be ready to protect my guest. Furthermore, I was more comfortable attacking America with a shovel than with a gun. Although, the latter item was accessible in the drawer of America's nightstand, in the form of a pistol.

I went back one more time to make sure Kumajiro had everything he would need for the night. When I found him, he was already snoozing on the couch in front of the TV. I raised the remote and rid the room of the aimless chatter of the characters, then fetched a clean blanket and draped it over him.

Upon contact, he stirred and blinked over at me.

"America?" he yawned.

"No," I whispered in my own voice. "It's me, Canada."

"Who?"

I tucked in the blanket and he went limp. I stroked his cheek and knew his fatigue in the way his head fell heavily into my hand. After a quick trip to my kitchen, I lay a warm bowl of water on the table in front of him. Kumajiro peaked at it, then closed his eyes again.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I murmured. "Goodnight, Kumohangu."

He was already fast asleep.

I snuck back to America's side, treated with an absence of movement upon this level. Relieved, I closed the door silently and crept away to bring myself to bed. First however, I did a quick check on Latvia, pressing my eye to the crack and finding him as a roll of blankets with but a tuft of brown hair.

I slid into America's room and removed my contacts. His glasses were left on the table before I rubbed at my eyes, which were sore from the combination of the two. As I curled up into the cold bed left untouched for so long, I mildly wondered how acceptable it would be to go without his glasses instead.

I burrowed deeper, and although the bed was comfortable, I could not help but feel unease in taking over America's bed. Perhaps I would need to practice sleeping here to get used to it, but it was as though a spectre now hung over me and was moaning for me to leave. Chills scampered over my skin and I pulled the blankets tight to my body to warm up a pocket of air. I wanted to break and skitter to the couch, but Latvia would wonder why _America_ preferred it to his own bed.

Then of course, leaving the room like this would risk having Latvia see the colour of my eyes. There was nothing to do but get cozy and direct my thoughts towards lighter topics.

 _I wonder how the cake will taste…_

Imaginary flavors filled my mind as I focused on the image Russia had sent to America after what seemed like a long time ago. I wondered if it was a moist cake oozing with a rich honey taste, and I wondered just how much honey was needed for an entire cake. Honey, like maple syrup, was expensive to buy and even short bottles cost much.

Further my thoughts drifted, until I was able to enter a fitful sleep. I would wake in cold sweat every few hours, chased to reality by dreams of blood and rot. The unfocused eyes of America and his cries rang in my ears, echoing when I looked around and took in my rasping breaths.

It always took a few seconds of silence before I felt that all was safe. But in case it wasn't, I checked on Latvia again and again, dragging my exhausted body back to the soaked bed each time.

My shirt had already been removed, but I lay down a sheet for a dry spot to lay. I covered myself up for warmth again and fell off the plane of consciousness, straight into another nightmare.

This one was unlike the others however, forcing me to believe that I had just awoken from sleep into reality, one filled with Latvia's screeches. The colours had been all wrong however, with the walls and floor dark wherever I went. I should have known, but in this dream, I was much too frightened to question it.

A somber mist covered Latvia when I dove into the guest room. His black blood smeared every surface, reaching the carpet by my feet and the ceiling itself. There was such an excess that it hung even in the air around us. Like the cold dampness of fog, it stuck to my skin in droplets. It was sticky and slippery though, uncomfortable as I took a jittering step toward the bony creature hunched over his torn body.

 _No, no, no_ …

A ragged cloth stuck to the back of the creature as it pulled back then dove down repeatedly, each time with the sound of ripping meat and the snap of bones. The smack of messy chewing filled the room and the confines of my mind. Far too late, I fell back, incapable of action as my breaths shortened and raised in pitch.

And somehow here, the deaf creature heard my panic and instantly spun around, gray and snarling with blood dribbling through orange teeth. The corpse took an unbalanced step towards me, hundreds of sesame seed insects colliding with centipedes over its skin. My breaths hitched and I strained to move away, managing one slow step back as America took a few forward.

" _M-Mr. America…_ " The whisper of Latvia rose from the immobile form on the bed. " _U-um… Mr. A-America…_ "

I raised my heavy arms out in defense, wailing when they fell on their own. The peeled face filled my vision and I was utterly defenseless.

"Mr. Ame-"

I hollered and shot forward, chest heaving and sweat sailing off my forehead. In the dark, I saw a small silhouette leap in surprise and fall back to the door to the hall.

 _Latvia. It's Latvia._

" _Argh_ ," I groaned. "What... are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry…" Latvia whispered. "I was hearing strange sounds so I-"

"Sounds?" I grabbed the blanket, peering to the corner where the shovel hid in the shade. "What kind?"

"Y-you were… Your breathing and it j-just sounded like you were hurt… so I was thinking that you needed help..."

Latvia held onto the door, clearly uncomfortable and feeling unwelcome here.

"Oh…" I relaxed. "No, just a really crazy dream."

There was a pause from Latvia before his voice rose inquisitively, "D-do… you get nightmares, America?"

"Sometimes, why not? Everyone does…"

He made a quiet sound of understanding. Then after another lull, he asked, "What did you dream about?"

"Trying to find out my weaknesses?"

"N-no! Er…"

"I'm just messing with you. It was about clowns. When real life isn't scary enough, sometimes my mind makes up shit to spook me."

"Oh…" Latvia murmured. "Not of the real things then. Nothing like Russia coming to t-take you away…"

"Of course not."

Latvia nodded slowly.

"So, as you can see, I'm all good," I told him. "Nothing to worry about. Thanks for the concern though."

He kept nodding.

"So you can go back to bed," I concluded.

"Ah, yes! Okay… goodnight then…"

After he had disappeared and I heard his door close, I sighed and threw the blankets over myself. It had been admittedly nice to have him appear, as a being of life that spoke to me and made me forget about the feeling of death watching me. It made it much easier to realize how strange the dream had been and how distant it was from reality.

 _He was also worried about me_ , I thought more about my guest's actions. _Latvia was afraid that I was hurt and he was willing to help if he could. I should really make sure to make him know that I appreciate his kindness. I can do more. Tomorrow morning, I should buy him some good food. Something better than a box of cereal..._

* * *

I went to a farmer's market for fresh fruit, then did the rest of my shopping at the grocery store. I crept back into the house and deposited my bags on the counter, the breeze ruffling the plastic through the open window. Oatmeal was in the works as I washed some ruby apples and rubbed them dry. By the time that I heard the movement of Latvia down the hall, I had already sliced them and had started putting everything onto the table.

Latvia arrived with a fresh change of clothes, small and unscathed, as he stood by the basement door and stared at the food in amazement. He could not fathom the effort being put in for him, amusing and disappointing me simultaneously. I beckoned him to take a seat, which he silently did, clutching at the chair as I dropped a carton of milk in front of him.

"You look surprised!" I laughed.

"I am, Mr. America… I didn't know you ate things like this."

I raped a fingernail against the back of his chair as I passed by.

"Well," I said. "I didn't want to force my sugary crap down your throat if you didn't want it. I told you I wanted to be your friend, didn't I? Another thing, you don't have to call me 'Mr.'. Relax already! Let's not be so formal."

"O-okay, but… I'm really not used to it."

Latvia moved to accept what I had laid out for him. A sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar for the oatmeal, then he nibbled at some of the apple slices. He relaxed more and more as we stayed and ate calmly, no strange sounds arising and disturbing the atmosphere. Eventually, I asked him about his travel plans.

Yellowstone, he had decided.

"And you will get there how?"

"Oh, by driving… I can see many things like this."

I burst out, "You can _drive_?"

"A-ah… yes…"

"But you're so short!"

Latvia blushed and blabbered, "D-didn't you see the car outside? I-I got here yesterday by…"

No, I hadn't seen it. When I had left the house, I had taken my own car and returned on that side, dropping off my own groceries with Kumajiro. I felt hot with pressure, but Latvia was not looking at me with suspicion.

"Oh, I forgot." I shrugged. His face told me that this response was normal. "I'm just surprised is all. You know, it's crazy because the pedals are far away _and_ you have to be able to see over the wheel…"

I stopped early to save him discomfort.

"But yeah, Yellowstone. Nice place. I guess you've probably been before but, not in a while."

He nodded.

I continued, "You should send me messages. You know, pictures, or just to let me know that you're doing alright. It's better if I can reach you on my phone instead of, like, my home phone. I'm not always around, especially when I'm at Russia's."

Latvia agreed. We cleaned up the table and then I put on some music as Latvia hunted down his things. I did some work until he had packed up his suitcase, and a short while later, had dragged it back to the door. I took it out to the rental car for him, cramming it in the small vehicle that could barely swallow it.

"So yeah." I followed him to the driver's seat. "Have a nice trip. Stay as long as you'd like here."

"Thank you, Mr- er, America…"

He was given a wave as he pulled away in the miniature car. Latvia, with a noticeable degree of uncertainty, waved back. Once he had disappeared from sight though, he was out of mind. I trotted back into the house and immediately went to complete my routine check on America. While the silence had affirmed that the towel technique was successful, I had no idea if he was straining his chains.

It was a relief to leave his glasses on the table and clear up my vision. After doing this, I went over to the door, unlocked it, then flicked on the light. Not sound nor movement greeted me there on those cold stairs. I stepped down with taut muscles, ready to move back in case a hand shot out for me from around the corner. With a peek around the wall however, I confirmed America's confinement and immobility.

His chains rested tight around his narrow body, and only his head turned my way. I could see even from this distance, the shine of black creeping over him. I couldn't even see the white of his eyes past them. The cluck he directed at me was like a command, urging me upstairs to snatch the remnants of the Raid. I sprinted back to America, tears welling up in my eyes from the stench and in seeing how far he had gone.

The skin was now a tad darker than gray, the old blood even stranger colours, and the sewn cuts seeming to mold. Still, I could not see his eyes. America's teeth over the checkered cloth appeared when his lips drew back, and chills clutched me as this seemingly eyeless corpse leaned toward me. Unable to watch, I turned my head away and sprayed directly at his face.

America did not scream from the force of the chemicals blasting him. I raised my finger and took a glimpse of the white I had coated him with, black and brown curls now spotting it and writhing in death. As they dripped down and splattered Dalmatian spots on the floor, his eyes became visible again. They were streaked with crimson and I retreated, holding myself when I noticed the _missing_ parts.

Those eyes were no longer orbs, but seemed deflated and gnawed. As though the insides of them had already been consumed. I bit my lip and sprayed the last of the can over his body, taking special attention to his previously broken leg. Where the skin had been torn off from the bandages, there was some healing, yet the area had become a mining site for the bugs. I left a pool of white then turned, departing right then and there.

Despite a temporary success, a grand veil of hopelessness hung over me. There was really nothing I could do to stop this from happening. I briefly wondered what would happen if I froze him, but the thought of stuffing him into a white freezer horrified me so much that I was forced to forget it. Once I had slammed and locked the door behind me, I rubbed my stomach and tried to quench my dizziness.

My hands were washed in the kitchen before I gathered the electronics and took them back to my side. With Latvia packed and gone so quickly, I would no longer need to stay here to work. I came back home with my arms full, helpless against Kumajiro's prods and questions.

"Where's the other guy?" he asked.

I headed to the coffee table and deposited my things. "I _am_ that other guy. It's me… Canada…"

I ruffled up my hair but it was no use in these clothes and with the blue eyes. It took until I had removed them before he believed my words.

"You couldn't smell me?" I mildly threw out while arranging the things resting on the table.

"No." He answered bluntly. "You stink."

I could not bring myself to care about this at the time. Dismissively, I replied with just a sigh, "Of course I do. What do you expect me to do?"

But instantly my mind whispered back to answer my own rhetorical question.

 _Freeze him_.

* * *

It was amazing, in hindsight, that I was able to survive the meetings with different bosses and political figures, with this disturbing thought in my mind. I never even imagined that I would have to try to rest at night, telling myself over and over again that one just couldn't consider stuffing their brother into a freezer. I sweated and dreamt my eerie dreams constantly, trying to find within them my safe place in that house among the corn. There, I could see nothing of the outside world. There, existed only old and beautiful things.

I couldn't take it anymore. The thought had become a legitimate idea after seeing the insects back by the time I had checked on him again, and more the time after that no matter how much Raid I used. In an attempt to be wise, I called Britain first before acting upon anything.

"Canada," he murmured once he picked up. "Are you alright?"

He sounded awfully tired. In an instant, I realized that I had forgotten to think about him. I had no idea where he was or where he had been.

"I'm sorry, Britain," I whispered back. "It's just… I'm leaving tomorrow and I was worried about America…"

He went mute and listened.

"I-it's just that th-the bugs… they've gotten so much w-worse…"

He listened still. Britain might have been trying to be respectful, but it felt as though he was silent in horror as he realized what I was getting at.

"I-I just can't bear to see him like this. I… just… don't know what I will do if he gets any worse. H-his eyes, Britain… I…"

"But it's alright if he gets worse," he mumbled back to me finally. "Remember? We can fix anything."

"I know, I know, but…"

"But what? What is it, Canada?"

"I… wondered if we should… freeze him. P-put him in a freezer."

"A freezer!" he cried. "Mercy me, do you really want to do that?"

His shock frightened me and I curled up into a ball on the couch, moaning, "I don't know… I don't know… I-it wouldn't h-hurt him and I-I thought that maybe…"

My spilling tears started to infect my voice. Britain shushed me and sighed, "I'm sorry, Canada. It isn't such a terrible idea. I don't know if it would be easy for him to heal being so cold, but he wouldn't really get any worse. I understand. Excuse my surprise…"

"I've j-just been thinking about it for a while," I sniffed. "And I know it might be good for him, w-with me being gone and unable to s-spray him…"

"Yes, yes…"

"And we could wrap the chains around it…"

Britain exhaled, "And him…"

"It c-could be more secure…"

"Can he move well yet?" he asked.

"No, not yet…"

"You would still have to lift him and put him in. But… Ah, no- never mind it. I never wanted you to remove those chains."

I murmured, "I know I promised but… he's weak right now. I can do it today and then never again."

There was silence on the other side. Then, Britain said softly, "Please don't do it, Canada. He'll be alright."

"Please," I whimpered. "I d-don't know what he- he'll look like after a week…"

"There's no need to worry," he soothed me in his fatigued voice. "All you have to do is believe in me. There is nothing for you to concern yourself over. I know it's hard, but we… we will stay strong."

For a brief moment I felt anger, but I couldn't hold that emotion. Britain _did_ understand that it was hard. He did not mean to sound insensitive and cruel. I had seen him cry already.

What passed next were empty words, those of Britain trying to calm me and assuring me again of the plan. The cure for America's condition and the talk of magic subdued me and before I had realized it, we had hung up. I did not call him back however, but instead I lay down to stare off at nothing.

 _I don't want to leave America like this_ , I thought, although felt that it was always best to listen to Britain. _I don't know what I'll come back to. If there'll even be anything left of him…_

* * *

That night I took Kumajiro to the Prime Minister, who expected me to go on a camping trip, and was fine with allowing Kumajiro to stay at his home. On America's side, my brother was expected to be going to Russia. The president had seemed satisfied with the idea of a peaceful interaction with that country, but had advised me to open nothing important over the internet there. In the end, I had a week off from all work.

Despite the vacation, the sleep that followed was especially rocky. I woke every hour until the first note of music came from my alarm. Then, I shot up and got ready for the drive. Although, how I had gotten myself to the airport was hardly remembered. Only the echoes of the monotone instructions from the GPS floated in my mind.

I was in my American costume for the entirety of the long flight, surprising myself constantly whenever I glimpsed myself in the restroom mirror. I was so certain that Russia would see no difference, but I wondered how I would pull off the voice when America plagued my mind. Every second from him, and the bugs munched my brother away, piece-by-piece.

There were times of bitterness where I wished I had ignored Britain, and had frozen him. But it was impossible to spite Britain when memories of his stress always guilted me into sympathizing with him. I only had to accept that America would survive this, as Britain had promised.

 _Oh, America. I don't even think that you would think you look cool now._

My heart picked up when the plane began its descent. A Russian announcement reminded me of the person waiting for me in that airport below. I pressed my hands against the cold window and stared out at the city below, finding onion-domed churches that were unlike the sharp points of the typical North American church. There was no going back now. I was here.

 _Oh man, what do I do if Russia figures it out?_

I tore open my bag and confirmed for the umpteenth time that I had my extra eye contacts, America's glasses, his wallet, and his passport. And of course, that I had taken _nothing_ noticeably Canadian with me. The only thing to hide was the extra phone, my phone, which might be strange to Russia if he noticed it.

I breathed deeply as I walked out of the airplane and followed the line of people. The air that snuck through the cracks between the plane and the tunnel was chilly and bit at my skin. I hurried into the warmth and rush of the airport, as people directed themselves towards the belts spitting out their luggage. I waited for mine, collected it, then wheeled it toward the exit to where Russia would be.

I stopped when my heart rate spiked. I needed a moment to breathe and whisper American slang to myself. Then, I followed the people once more until I found the crowd amassed to meet with their arriving loved ones. I had to peer through the crowd of Russians until I found my specific one, the one that stood tall against a pillar with a familiar scarf draped around his neck.

He seemed relieved for a moment, glad that I had actually come. I swallowed and approached Russia, releasing what seemed like a too quiet, "Hey". He gave me a small smile, leaving the pillar and moving closer to me. He did not dare touch me, however. This difference surprised me because I had expected some sort of polite greeting like he sometimes did for me. As America though, he kept a certain distance.

"It is nice that you made it," Russia said. "Was the flight okay?"

"It was alright, thanks. Saw some movies, slept…" I shrugged.

"Okay, that is good." Russia nodded and looked away. "You can follow me, America. We will drive back to my home."

"Sure thing."

And I tugged my suitcase along, walking beside him. I felt a tingle of awkwardness that we had not made any friendly sort of touch, yet I wondered if America even detected it. The remaining tension was hardly tolerable for me and I wished that America hadn't let it get this bad. I gazed at Russia's arm, imagining how he might react if I were to suddenly poke him. It felt so far away, for one, and the act would be a threat to my cover if I were to act so unorthodoxly.

"So, what're we going to do first?" I asked. "Bake?"

"It does not have to be first thing." Russia looked over to me, a bit of a curious expression breaking through his face. "We can have lunch."

"At your place?"

"Yes, we will not be stopping for McDonald's."

Russia smiled a bit, although not for long. I could tell that he was restraining himself, trying not to trust my behaviour. Although he undoubtedly liked it, and I felt it was best to continue like this: Canadian with the voice of America.

"It's fine," I smirked as I followed him still. "I'm not really in the mood. I'll try whatever you've got."

He looked back at me. "You are serious?"

"Yeah." I shrugged and nodded.

Russia glanced away and I stayed silent while a more comfortable mood hung between us. It lingered even when in the car, and I tried to ease Russia more by looking out the windows as though I was truly interested in the colours and shapes of the city.

"Did you decide where you wanted to go yet?" he asked eventually.

I pulled away from the glass and turned to Russia."Anywhere's good. You can decide."

"Anywhere is good?" He seemed taken back. "Okay. I will try to think of places you have not been."

I was no longer surprised by the size of his house, since I had been here enough times as just myself. When we had arrived, I followed him in, taking off my shoes then looking left to right.

"There is a room for you." Russia told me when I was ready. "Follow me."

I took hold of my suitcase and transported it far to the room he beckoned me into. This area was new for me, and I was impressed by the spacy room which possessed a grand bed with a decorative, wooden frame and thick mattress. There was wallpaper pasted on each wall, something I did not see often anymore, but it was not so old that it was peeling. It tasted of past times with its faded design of roses. A few pictures on the walls with heavy frames did as well, but there were naturally some modern touches here provided for me: a TV and an alarm clock in sight of the bed.

"You can unpack while I make something," Russia told me. I agreed and began removing my things and putting them into the drawers, storing my electronics into one beside the bed. When I made my way back to the entrance, I searched the depths of my memory to try to find the way to the kitchen. Just in time, Russia swept around a corner and found me looking lost.

Again, I trailed him silently. Russia sat me at a table in the adjacent room, one with a few items already on it. I waited though, not laying a finger upon the perogies or bread. Instead, I gazed over the clean and silky tablecloth to an elaborate vase. It was made of black-stained glass and tied with a ribbon, although the inside was filled with dirt. A dignified pot it was, for the single living flower facing me.

Yes, it had been turned towards me. I sat in full view of the healthy flower and its fat, black middle spotted with yellow, and striking, fire-coloured petals. I felt sure that Russia had set it here for my benefit, just as he had left this room utterly clean and charming.

 _He tried for me._

Russia hopped in to place utensils, napkins, and plates for us. I looked over to where he had left his plate, beside me around the corner of the table. Close, but not too close.

I looked back to the flower, snagged by its colours. Russia added bowls to the table then asked me, "What will you drink, America?"

I widened my eyes and tried to organize my thoughts to understand the question. "Er, water's fine."

 _I should have asked for pop_. I mentally slapped myself.

Russia fetched it immediately, although in the hesitant way he set it down for me, I was sure that he was surprised. He had served himself similarly, before bringing over sour cream and soup.

"I made these things this morning." Russia sat down. "So they are fresh."

"Ah, nice."

Once he started serving himself, I did too. I didn't care how America did it; I was determined to be polite. Russia though, asked me about this earlier than I had expected.

"You are very quiet today, America." He put a glob of sour cream into his soup.

"Just… trying to be more polite. I kinda want people to like me more."

"Why this now?"

"Little tired of being the dick of the world."

Russia hummed, then said, "That's nice."

Everything he had given me tasted wonderful, and as guaranteed, fresh. I realized my hunger after the long flight and small meals, filling the empty plate. Russia seemed pleased at my eagerness, and I knew that my appetite was suiting. Additionally, I ate exactly as he did, with a touch of sour cream with everything.

After we had finished, he asked, "Will we bake the cake now?"

My enthusiasm was partially honest. "Oh, yeah sure!"

I carried my things into the kitchen for him, helping him clean up. It was definitely a first for him, but Russia seemed to grow ever the more content. He started pulling out ingredients and I sat on a stool, waiting for commands.

"It is a lot for two people," Russia mentioned. "But it lasts long in fridge."

"You just saw me eat. You know I can pack that away."

Russia waved me to a plastic mixing bowl. I fell quiet and listened, moving carefully and measuring whatever he told me to. He melted some sugar into honey beside me on the stove, looking over at me as he spoke. My calm made his voice grow ever the more gentle. When Russia eventually asked if we could play music, I allowed it. He poured the sweetened honey into the bowl then retrieved his computer.

Tranquil Russian songs played, noticeably modern and avoiding the Red Army Choir. Although I liked the beauty of their voices and instruments, I knew that Russia did not want to put on anything communist near me. I wondered if America really cared about that, and in that instant, I was reminded of how I had left him.

 _Why did I leave him like that…_

I had been so close to forgetting. I incorporated the tension into my expression since I knew I wouldn't be rid of it; my face likely seemed to Russia to be merely concentrated. Regardless, the thoughts that should not come up when baking found me, so I tried to focus on the smell of honey.

"That is good, America," Russia told me. I stepped back as Russia tossed flour on a counter, grabbed a chunk of the mix, and began rolling a ball. It was then flattened into a thin layer, gingerly transported onto a baking sheet, and slid into the ready oven.

"We will wait a few minutes," he explained. "Can you make another one for me?"

I glimpsed the fridge and freezer across the room as I walked back to the counter. When a cold spider raced down my spine, I felt a heavy weight of dread. Never before I had been spooked by the sight of an appliance.

 _This is getting out of hand. My mental health is not doing well._ _Focus. Focus on the cake._

Russia complimented me on every layer I made, seeming to be unaware of my mental disturbance. He showed me when to pull out the layers before they overcooked, then he had me prepare the icing. I was in charge of painting the cake, smearing the top of each layer and all around the cake. I moved slowly and gently, trying to breathe to the slow tune of the music. Russia occupied himself with breaking the trimmed pieces crumbs.

"We did good job." He looked to me. "Are you happy too?"

"Yeah, this looks awesome!"

"Hmm, you don't look so happy."

"Sorry," I replied, covering the very top. "Other things on my mind. This though, looks amazing."

"What kind of things?" Russia asked.

"Ah, confidential stuff."

 _Of course he noticed something_ , I thought. _He must be used to scanning for weakness in America._

There was nothing else after that. Russia covered the outside icing with crumbs, put a lid over the cake, then stuck it in the fridge. I hung back a bit so that the cold air would not touch me.

"We will go out for a bit," Russia said. "I have plans for us now. When we get back tonight, we can try this cake."

I found some smiles to give him, and I feigned more enthusiasm. This time, he was convinced by it. Shortly after that, and we were off into the city. It did not take long before I forgot about the cake we had made: that original excuse to come here. Once it was far away and its smells were gone, it was although it had never happened.

If only other things could be forgotten just like that. The cold air did nothing but make me feel horrible about the suggestion I had given to Britain. Every minute, despite the momentary distractions, I thought about America. Only hours in another country, and already I wanted to go home.

 _Minutes are longer than I remembered them to be._

* * *

After I had been surprised by the cake and its flavor, the rest of the night led to getting ready to sleep. My jetlag fatigued me and Russia helped me back to my room, giving me the Wi-Fi password and explaining what was in this hall. He would be a few rooms down apparently, further than Latvia had been. Hopefully, he would hear nothing if I was ravaged by my nightmares again.

America's glasses were taken off and I lay back on the bed. For once, there was no required work to do. I took out my contacts before I rolled and stretched under the warm blankets. This bed was by far comfier than mine or America's, and so sleep came instantly after all the stress and pleasantries of the day.

Once my eyes had closed, I was brought to a peaceful scene in the kitchen. Russia was working with his back to me, but when I stepped into the room, he turned and gave me a smile. That kind one again that was unlike the usual eerie and intimidating one.

Happiness overwhelmed me. There were no more problems in the world, and only this existed. I approached Russia, seeing that there was something in the bowl, although I hadn't the slightest idea what it was. Russia starting murmuring to me how to make it, with instructions that I could not remember. It did not matter though. He ended up doing everything for me and I only had to listen to his voice.

It was so relaxing although there were no true words for me to hear. I looked from the baking to his face, then whispered, " _Can I stay with you?_ "

I did not want to go anywhere else. I felt that I could stay here forever.

He spoke Russian, but it was more soothing somehow.

" _Da, koneshno, Kanada_."

Those words were easy for me to understand. Without thinking, I slid in and hugged him gratefully. Real reactions did not matter when I need the embrace to be returned. The dream-Russia understood my suffering and immediately hugged me, with the strength and tenderness of a true friend. My friend, since he had called me Canada.

Warmth. Such warmth.

 _Yes, I am Canada. I'm not America..._

" _Ty khoroshiy druk_ …" Russia whispered and stroked my back.

It was so calm. I hugged more tightly, but when I pressed my head into him, there came a strange squishiness against my cheek. The texture was familiar, and I yanked back with my stomach already clenching. A scream was forming in my throat even before I watched the coil of intestine drop through a rip in his shirt. Russia's face became a blur as my dreamself flailed and raced away screeching.

I flew back into the dark and saw from there, his silhouette collapsing in the distance. But I could not stand and do nothing. I scrambled back to help him, and I slid down onto my knees next to him. I grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled his body over, only to find that this was no longer Russia. A mangled and stitched corpse faced me with a swarm of maggots wiggling and breaking through black flesh. The face was utterly unrecognizable, yet the body could only be America.

The bony jaw dropped and I was frozen in spot as a hoarse moan crept past charcoal teeth.

" _Kyehhnaaadaaah._ "

I shrieked, and a wave of darkness consumed the scene. Hands grabbed me from somewhere, tight and strong as they snatched my wrists and lifted my arms above my head. There were breaths over me and I tried to bring up my knees, to protect my exposed stomach. The legs too, were forced down and then I was left defenseless from a bite into my stomach.

" _No, no- don't do it! It won't help you! It won't- please!_ "

My heart thundered and my lungs started seizing. When my breaths became shorter and shorter still, I panicked further. My body was torn forward and I shrieked again, gasping for breath as I was thrown back and forth.

" _America_?"

The blackness gained a dim light.

" _America_?"

Finally, my eyes snapped open. Faintly in the darkness, Russia was seen over me with his hands still clasped onto my arms. He let go and drew away as I fought to catch my breath.

"America?" he repeated. "What is happening?"

I still could not breathe. I dipped forward, mouth working and chest shaking, but my ribs would not expand. My hands reached out grabbed the sleeves of Russia's pyjamas, tightening in desperation. Russia pulled back and I dropped, right onto his fist that snapped at my stomach.

I choked from the strike then inhaled horribly. I fell back as my body reorganized itself and steadied its breathing rate. Russia sat back and pressed his fingers together, waiting for my recovery. My chest rose and fell, rapidly at first, then calming. I closed my eyes as Russia moved back closer and loomed over me.

When he spoke, he sounded afraid.

"Why couldn't you breathe?" he whispered urgently. "What is wrong with you? I did not do this. What happened?"

"A dream…" I whispered. "Just… Thank you, for waking me…"

The blankets under me were drenched with sweat. I rolled over as Russia seemed to relax before he asked, "What kind of dream scares you like this?"

"I…"

Clowns did not seem like anything that Russia would believe.

"I dreamt that... you had died horribly."

It was out before I could fear the result of being honest. All I could think about was that Russia might be surprised that I cared about him, and perhaps happy about it too.

"You were that upset about this?" His tone curved upwards in interest. "Why?"

"Look," I replied. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't want you to die… I don't want anyone to die, really.."

"You say nice thing to me." I heard his smile although there was too much shadow cast over his face to see it. "I hope you are honest."

"I am… I mean, in my dream you fell apart and it was so damn gory… I hated it. I couldn't look at it. I don't want you to die, really. Maybe I considered killing you before, but thoughts and reality are what defines psychopaths, you know? We never mean it."

He was becoming convinced.

"I am glad that this is how you feel," Russia murmured. "Now, I want to be feeling that I would be sad if you died."

I brushed away my old tears and breathed. I thought now would have been a good time to seek comfort, but I was unsure if he would let me so much as touch his arm. It might be too strange for him, but it seemed, unless it was my imagination, that he wanted to offer something as well.

The hesitation lasted for too long and I missed my chance. Russia withdrew and murmured, "Sleep well now, America. You do not need to think bad things."

His shadow slid away so suddenly that the bed and room went completely cold. I moved, on the verge on following him, but froze when I considered how strange I was acting. America would not be this weak; it was only me and my stress which Russia had noticed. The spot where Russia had sat though, was slightly warm. I slid my legs close to it.

 _You do not need to think bad things_.

But I did not know what to do, when thinking of cake and peaceful moments had done nothing for me. The dreams would destroy those things, so I wondered what else there was. Then I realized, that I needed my safe place. My head rolled over and I peeked at the dark shapes of the room: the curves and corners of the wood. This place was old and cozy like that house among the corn. The dark blobs on the wallpaper were roses too.

 _The roses in the vase…_

In a short amount of time, I found myself instantly there. And for once, I had not needed to be chased here in order to arrive. It was quiet and everything was where it was supposed to be.

Certainty. This was what lacked in my current life.

I was thankful for it.

* * *

The loud bling of a message came early that morning, and I leaped up with an unnatural squeak. I looked around, remembered where I was, and what that sound had been. Then, I slid my hand into the drawer and took out America's phone.

There was one text message, went by someone whose contact name given by America was apparently SECURITY GUY. Startled, I read it.

 _Ursa is frying eggs._

I blinked and thought, _What on earth does that mean?_

Obviously, it was code for something. Completely unsure of what it meant, I grew terrified. Had I done something wrong with my job up to this point? I tried to clear my mind, clutching my phone and staring at each word.

 _Ursa means bear. Bear means Russia._

But that was as far as I got. The rest was so strange that I was struggling to reason it out. Yet this person had warned me about Russia, about something the country had done very recently.

My mind flew back to last night, when Russia had saved me from the nightmare. He had seemed so concerned, but my eyes widened as I realized just how weak I had made America look. Despite Russia's words, it dawned upon me that he had probably not believed a single thing. And a message from this SECURITY GUY probably only meant one thing.

 _He might be after the truth. Oh my god, Russia is suspicious. He's spying on me!_

I pulled at my hair, imagining that a Russian had probably already read that message and was relaying it to a higher command. I jammed myself into new clothes and put on my contacts, taking only a moment to fix the curl before I hurried down the hall. However, I slowed down as I came near Russia's room.

 _But how can I confront him about this? He will know for sure that I am hiding something._

I shook my head. I knocked at the door, but no response came. Considering the time, I whirled around and headed to the kitchen.

Russia was here, not murmuring darkly into a phone in Russian, but making thin pancakes. He turned and started to smile at me, but dropped it when he noticed my upset expression.

"What is wrong, America?" he asked.

A flame of anger sparked in my chest. I could not believe how caring he was pretending to be, when he knew exactly what he had done. The act infuriated me and suddenly I understood how America had felt. Flowing with the feelings, I hardly needed to act. Aggressive needles sprouted from my words as I neared him and spat, "How could you be spying on me, after what we had done together?"

"Spying?" He blinked rapidly. "That is not true."

"I _know_ that you sent people to do it. Why? Just because I had some nightmare? Everyone gets those!"

"America," he replied. "I am not spying on you."

"You didn't believe me." My voice fell into a stiff growl. "You betrayed me and did this!"

Russia's eyebrows lowered and he uttered, "I thought you would play nice, and try to be a better person. Now I am wondering why you are here."

He quickly attended to the pancakes. I hated seeing him turn his back to me, but it also allowed me time to feel guilt. Everything pointed towards him, yet I did not want to be America.

"Of course we all are having nightmares," Russia said. "I have never seen you have one though. I have never seen you cry. For me this is scary and makes me believe that you are sick."

He glanced to me.

"Are you sick?"

"No," I muttered.

"I see you thinking about something all the time. But, I have not seen anything in the news. What is bothering you so much, if it is nothing that will kill you?"

"So you have been keeping track of me." I stared hard at him. He was not revealing a lot to me.

"We keep the track of each other," he answered. "It is normal."

"You were hoping that I was weak."

"For what, America? I will never invade you. Even if I wanted Alaska back, you know that the world would never let me take it. So what is wrong if you are sick and I know it? I cannot do anything to you."

"You know what you are doing," I countered. "It isn't about land- it's about power! You want to be the one to influence the world, and that's why you hack and meddle with elections!"

Russia muttered, "I wanted this aggression to end between us. I don't want your leader to blame everything on me, to say that I am always the evil one. I don't want our missiles pointing at each other and there to be sanctions upon me. You do not understand why I want you to be weak. I _like_ it when you are quiet and afraid, and whenever you will listen to other people. But, America, you are selfish. You call yourself an exception, and think that all the power should be yours."

I felt the warmth in my body dropping. I looked down, too ashamed to look even at his back. I wondered how I had let myself be just like America, and now he thought that I was no better than him. Russia ignored me as he got breakfast ready, passing me as he went in and out of the kitchen.

"Er… Russia…"

He paused his rushed walk.

"Russia," I repeated. "Forget… what I said. I overreacted. I'm working on becoming better, really. I'm sorry. I want to have a good time with you. I'm… really sorry…"

Finally he looked at me, tilting his head in curiosity. After a pensive pause, he replied, "America, I do know you are trying. You have said sorry to me many times since yesterday. I think Canada has been helping you, and I like that you can be nice like him. Continue this."

My heart leaped, but Russia was looking at me forgivingly.

"Um… yeah, actually."

"You don't have to be so quiet like him," Russia said. "But I liked you yesterday."

The atmosphere was calming further. My hairs were lowering and I was sure his were too. I decided to say, "Look, I know that what happened last night was suspicious, but I've been having a lot of nightmares recently. Because I have been nice to people, I'm starting to imagine horrible things happening to them."

Russia nodded to my lie. "I understand this, America. I am happy that you worried about me."

We sat at the table and I tasted the pancakes with jam. After some time had passed, Russia murmured, "So it wasn't clowns that you dreamt about."

I froze for a second, trying to suppress a look of surprise from crossing my face.

"So Latvia told you that. Why though?"

"He is funny," Russia smiled. "He cannot be quiet when I thinks that I will hurt him. When I was asking him about his trip, he told me it. They tell me many things."

The smile was disturbing, but I looked at the flower and remembered yesterday. Russia had been kind and gentle back then. I felt sure that he would be again, far more readily than he would be cruel.

"I had dreamt that he had been ripped apart," I said. "By a zombie."

"That is strange." The corners of his lips lifted again. "I have never thought about that happening to him."

To say the truth took a massive weight off me. He could not even know why I dreamt that dream. Perhaps, it would not be bad to say more. Russia would think that American movies had merely influenced me.

"And they just don't stop," I continued. "For weeks, I imagine death. That I'll be alone and helpless."

Russia's interest peaked. He moved a little closer to me. "So you have these dreams too?"

I looked at Russia in amazement. His bright eyes looked into mine, shining a kind of hope despite the somber things I was saying.

"Yes… I see myself hurt too, and I think that others will be sad about it. I think about how I should be careful, because there are people that love me."

"Of course there are, America," Russia murmured. "It is important to think about them. You have to be good for them too, which you are doing."

My words rolled off my tongue.

"Russia, I saw myself fall. I dreamt a long time ago, that I had died and that Canada had to clean me up and take me home. I dreamt that he had called Britain, and that they had both cried when they saw me. It was so awful because I was never thinking about them. I had hurt them so much."

Finally, there was someone to tell all this to in the only way that I could. And as my voice and body began to shake, Russia breathed, "Eat, America. You will feel better."

I did, taking small bites of the sweet meal. Russia drank, then whispered, "I will not hurt you because you are sad, America. You are not really weak, but you are just being a person. I know that you are very strong. You are just wanting friends instead of allies, people who you can love and who will love you back. And you are afraid of losing them."

"I _am_ afraid of losing them. And I don't want it to be my fault."

 _Because I should have stopped America. I should have saved him, and now I should save others from him._

Russia poked at crumbs with his fork. "You made me worry for you last night, America. I see that you are not sick in the way that I expected… but something is wrong with you. It is true that I tried to find out what it is, but… I did not want you to think that I was spying. Spying is a bad word, because I wanted nothing from you."

No longer could I be angry at him. I felt even worse at my behaviour, fueled by the report from the text.

"I'm really sorry," I exhaled. "I want to be your friend. I really do."

And I knew, without a doubt, that this was for me and not for America's benefit. I wanted Russia to be my friend. After telling him my feelings and hearing his support, I needed him.

"I am very happy that you do…" Russia smiled and tentatively touched my arm. "I want to help you through this, because I have similiar problem."

 _You really don't though_.

But I gladly accepted. Slowly, we got up after taking notice of both our empty plates. I helped him again in the kitchen, choking on an overwhelmed lump in my throat. I wanted this so much that I could hardly control myself. I wanted the argument of this morning gone, and I wanted him to forget everything America had ever done.

Russia finished up in the sink. I approached him as he dried his hands, stopping and swallowing my tears.

"I mean it, Russia," I whispered. "I will be your friend."

"I know you are being honest. I can feel it." Showing no teeth, Russia smiled warmly and walked closer. "So please, trust me. I will not hurt you. If you are frightened and dream bad things again, it is okay to let me see your tears. Everyone cries. Tell me all your feelings. Tell me; trust me, America."

I nodded slowly. I glanced up into his eyes again, which were so clearly radiating warmth. I was glad that I had not put on the glasses, so that I could see this. As though pulled by a magnet, I fell into Russia. My arms lagged in the task however, taking a moment to walk up his back and find a spot for my hands to rest.

And Russia hesitated, unsure of what was happening at first. Then though, the hug that came was exactly like the one in my dream. Except, that his organs did not drop out of him. He remained warm and whole until shortly after, when we stepped away from each other.

"Thank you," I murmured, not knowing what to comment after that.

"You are being so polite," Russia purred. "I like this."

He adjusted his scarf and started to move out of the room.

"I think that we will have good day today," he concluded. "With a friend, everything I have planned will be much better."

He disappeared out of sight, and I could not let him stay like that. I followed him, already addicted to his hugs and wondering when I could be given another one.


	8. Chapter 8

After a day of pleasant sightseeing, we sat on the couch and watched a movie in English. Russia had found something on the Internet and had connected his laptop to the TV, which he saw past his knitting. While his hands worked, he eventually asked me a question I had already considered.

"America," he murmured. "Why do you like me now, when we are still not on the same sides?"

"Why?" To me it seemed obvious, although America probably had never considered it. "Because, you are more than just your military."

Russia smiled a bit. "Oh?" he said, eager and urging me to explain more.

"Yeah. You're that, but also all the people. And not everybody's got any choice in those things," I replied. "Like, take Ukraine for example. It's not like _you_ hate her, because it wouldn't make sense. Many people in Russia have family from Ukraine so, how could that work? And you enjoy Ukrainian culture too. It just doesn't make sense for you to be terrible."

Russia put his knitting to the side and slid closer to me.

"You are right," he smiled. "Hmm, I never thought you would understand... I do not always have the choices, and my feelings are separated. Most of me does not want to fight. I do not want to be bad."

"No one can say that the Russian people are bad, so how can you be?" I added simply, with another shrug to act nonchalant.

The expression on his face was pure delight. His eyes shut and he sighed, "When did you get smart, America?"

I laughed. "Well, it's not like all Americans are dumb either. Give me some credit!"

In the exchange of compliments, Russia chuckled and admitted, "Yes, you are the one with the very good inventions. Good with the science."

I tapped his arm. "Yeah, keep buying my stuff!"

It was amazing to see Russia truly amused. He bobbed a little in laughter and I instantly wished that I had tried to be friends with him as myself. I should have been independent and ignored America's pressure, being confident enough to really speak to him.

Russia went back to his knitting, but from America's phone resting on the table, another bling came. It was not the second one today, for I had received many strange codes throughout the day. Yet, I had been with Russia and had never seen him doing anything. Whatever was going on, it did not seem to be his fault.

I reached out and took the phone, skimming over the new message and not understanding it at all. Annoyed instead, that I was being discouraged from being with Russia, I forced the phone into vibrate.

"Is something wrong?" Russia asked, with a curious sweep of his voice.

"I wish they'd stop." And this was the truth. "It's _so_ annoying."

"It is about me?"

"Yeah."

"I did not do anything," he insisted.

I asked, as non-confrontational as I could, "Maybe something you said caused this…?"

"Oh America, I think it is because I said good things about you to them. I think that it is _you_ that they do not trust."

"So ironic then," I murmured. "The problem is that everyone _thinks_ there is a problem."

We continued watching the movie until Russia bid me to take more cake. I took my empty plate to the kitchen and served myself, returning to the couch. From a distance, it was more intriguing to see Russia knitting, as though now it had just struck me that he did that.

 _He seems so calm and innocent._

I knew his past, and perhaps better than America ever did. I knew more than just the Soviet period. Before I had ever appeared, Russia had lived and suffered through centuries of poverty, labor, and famine. He knew death and oppression, and yet here he was, knitting and seemingly happy.

I wondered if I could be happy too.

"So why haven't you been wearing your glasses?" Russia inquired. "Are they embarrassing you?"

"Oh no, um… I got some new ones but the prescription's a little off. It hurts my eyes to wear them too long."

It was easy to not lie to him, but to twist the truth for convenience.

"But you do not need them so much?"

"No, no. I'm fine."

I nestled into the side of the couch and set my head into my warm hand. Russia glanced at me for a moment, but he drifted off into silence. The movie continued on, but eventually it only became sounds as my eyes slid shut. Then, it was not even that anymore. A tentative darkness came, but then I felt something poke me in the arm.

Groggily, my head flopped over and I saw a needle withdrawing. The room was silent now; the TV was off.

"Wh-wha…"

"You should be going to bed," Russia murmured. "You are tired because you did not sleep well last night."

I rubbed at my eyes. "What time is it?"

"It is ten."

"Shit, that's early."

At some point, Russia had also gotten rid of our dishes. Now, he got up and I could immediately trail him toward the hall where we slept. I moved my heavy limbs to get ready for bed, but then Russia caught me in the hall. His face was creased in concern as he asked me, "Do you want me to stay with you tonight?"

"What? What for?"

"If you have nightmares every night," he explained. "You need help stopping them."

"Okay but…"

"Or maybe I can play music for you?"

I held my arm, squeezing it in true discomfort. The thought of Russia beside me was strange and I was overwhelmed at his concern. Just after a short amount of time with him, and he already wanted to do so much for me.

 _Or no… because I have been talking to him so much online. It must have meant more to him than I realized._

"Ah… No, maybe the music," I replied. "It might be all I need."

His face changed a bit, becoming more downcast. I knew that he did not believe in the music. Truly, Russia had wanted to stay with me.

"Okay," he conceded without complaint. "I will find something."

I waited in my room for him, and he found me later with a CD player. Old as it was, he set it up while I sat yawning. Eventually, calming Russian music dribbled into the room, which was smooth to my ears as I stood and pulled back the blankets.

"Thanks, Russia."

"Mmm." He looked over at me, still a little off. Before I could act, he wished me goodnight and padded away. I was left staring after him, feeling the thinness of the air around me, deprived of the hug I had desired. The light was extinguished after a quick flick of his finger, then my emotions and I were left in the dark.

I took out the eye contacts and, deflated, collapsed into the bed. I heard the vibration of America's phone back in the drawer, but felt only the more dependent on Russia. Despite whatever they said, I could only wish that I had allowed him to stay.

 _It is probably too weird to go after him now_ , I thought wistfully. _Why had I rejected the idea so fast? I'm too conditioned to mistrust him… I let Britain stay with me, but here there is even more room in this bed..._

And yet, the music was enough to set me into a tranquil mood. Optimistic for the night, I relaxed my body and waited for sleep to come. I thought only about today and forgot about what existed on the other side of the world, until everything disappeared into mist.

* * *

When sunlight drifted onto my eyelashes, I blinked open my eyes. I was lying on my side and across the way, the sun was filtering through a crack of the curtains. I stared for a moment, a smile widening across my face as I realized that I had done it.

"No nightmares…" I whispered. "Finally…"

"No, there were nightmares."

I yelped and tumbled out of the bed. My body smacked onto the floor and I automatically cried, "Shit! What- what the?"

I popped up and saw Russia laying back on the bed, emerged in a novel. Instantly my heart bounded as I realized that I was looking directly at him without my eye contacts. I turned away and opened the drawer, digging and taking out America's phone along with the contacts. I hid them under my shirt as I pretended to be occupied with the electronic device.

As I sat on the carpet with my back to the bed, I heard a page turn. Russia had seen nothing. I put the phone away and snuck a bead of hair gel onto my finger before I stood. Grateful for my luck, I beelined to the bathroom to conceal my purple eyes. A great relief washed over me when I had them on and had my hair in the right shape. Now, I could face anything.

Russia was still there when I came back. I collected the clothes that I wanted for the day, but he seemed not to notice me at all. Instead of making him move, I changed in the bathroom. Again, he was there when I returned.

"Can you sit beside me?" Russia asked suddenly, although his face stayed neutral and locked onto the book.

A feeling of dread came over me. If I had said or done something last night, I could not remember it. Nervous, I sat on the bed and crossed my legs.

"Er, what is it?"

"Are you upset that I am here?"

I replied, "N-no, I'm not."

"Because I heard you cry out and I came." The book was put down and he finally looked to me. "And I stayed although you said not to."

"It's alright," I insisted. "Just… did I say anything weird?"

He nodded. "You did not say much, because you were making a lot of frightened noises. But you said that Britain was taking too long and that you had to freeze him. It was very strange. Freeze Britain? Dreams are strange things."

Trying not to sweat, I asked, "Really? And i-is that all I said?"

"Hmmm, something about chains. _The chains are breaking_ , you said. And you were very scared. Poor America."

If that was all, then it was not so bad. Yet I was so spooked about what I could have said. How could I have explained myself if I had spoken about America, when I was supposed to be him?

"So… What did you do?"

Russia smiled a bit now. "I would touch your arm like this." He reached out and pressed his hand against my upper arm, comfortably hard. "You stopped when I did that. And I did this three times."

"Damn. Just that?"

"You did not need much. It would wake you up a little, but not completely. I think you were happy that you knew you were not alone."

"I'm… sorry I said no last night. I should have trusted you."

His expression brightened a bit.

I continued, "You uh… you can stay. But you have to wake me up the _moment_ I start having a nightmare. Before I do or say anything weird."

Russia nodded. "Mm-mm, I will."

"Promise?"

"I promise this."

I looked away, but Russia did not. I curled over a bent leg and hugged it, releasing a slow and silent exhale. Russia put a hand back on the pillow, turning more toward me, and unintentionally opening up his chest. Admittedly, I was very tempted to catch him right then and there. Yet I had to restrain myself to not lunge at the first opportunity of comfort, lest I seem like a too desperate America.

"Are you okay?" he murmured though. "I see fear in you more than sadness. In your dreams and in your face now. Have you told me everything that is bothering you?"

 _What should I say?_ I wanted to admit that I was afraid, but I was unsure. _Can I admit that there is more, and that I am afraid of something? What if I interest him too much, and he does send people to find out my secret?_

I went too long without saying a word. My face must have been left in a haunted and worried state, since Russia touched my arm and repeated, "Are you okay?"

"I…"

"Is there anything I can do? I do not like seeing you like this. So changed and different."

 _America is more different than you know, but I guess that I have changed too._

"There's… nothing you can do," I answered. "Unless…"

 _Unless? Why am I saying unless?_

"What?" He ran his hand down my arm and dropped it onto the blanket.

"If you could… If you know about any… special plants."

"Do you mean healing plants?" Russia murmured.

My eyes widened. "Yes, yes! Please… if you could give me some…"

"They will help you?" He tilted his head and touched my arm again. "Okay. I will find something."

The spark of joy alighting within my anxiety and sorrow made me feel too light. The touch became too much to handle, so I fell in and scooped him into a hug. There was less hesitation this time, and he stayed still and held me for a few seconds.

Russia was quite a pleasant combination of strength and warmth, thus my woes were swept away instantly. When he let go however, they all started to creep back.

"This we will do today," Russia said as he finally began to leave the bed. "Now come with me. We will make something for breakfast."

* * *

I was left in shock when Russia took me to a regular herbalist. Promptly, I realized my error in wording and in assuming that he knew what I had been talking about.

 _How could he know? He does not need it to cure a zombie sibling._ _I don't think he knows anything that Britain does at all._

I ditched the idea, much to the confusion of Russia. I explained that I had not been thinking straight, that I didn't really think this would help. Accepting it quickly, we went on with the day. Unlike yesterday though, he touched me on the shoulder more throughout the day as though checking that I was still there. And I suppose, when he did that, I came back to the present.

Russia stayed with me at nights, lying far away but waking me at the beginning of each nightmare. I rarely remembered those moments. He reported that I was having less nightmares though, and that I had not said anything strange. Since he was not questioning me, I assumed that he was honest. Russia still called me America, and America I was for him.

Eventually too, the messages on my phone ceased to come. Russia had been telling more about my kindness to the higher-ups, and perhaps a consideration was beginning to be taken. I trusted his actions and in his presence, I felt safe. I could have Russia now, as the therapy Britain could not provide, stressed and grim as Britain was. Russia knew nothing but cared, and that was all I wanted.

We listened to the Russian music and he hugged me every night before bed. One morning, he told me that I had had no nightmares. Each night after that, it was the same. But this relief was short-lived, since on the occasion when I was being patted on the back, I wondered how I could possibly live without this. When I went back, Russia would be gone. The nightmares would continue and I would be lonely.

 _Lonely?_ Yes, I would have Kumajiro, but something great was lacking there. I felt a difference in the dedication, in the worry of Russia for me. _For America_ , truly, but I was the new America, and that was the only America that he had been able to adore. Russia liked who I was.

Russia spent a surprising amount of money on me freely each day. We drank a little, but never so much because I did not want to get drunk. I could not control what I said and Russia would be more conscious, able to remember my words. In the days that passed, we became incredibly comfortable with each other. I could ask him more without worry of offending him.

On the night before my flight, I lay in the bed on my side. I could hear Russia's breaths and knew them well enough to realize that he was not yet asleep.

"Russia," I whispered, in the way that America would whisper. "Let's stay friends. This has been great."

I heard him roll over. "Of course, America. I will be friends with anyone who treats me kindly and accepts me."

"Can we do more to fix things?" I murmured. "Could we make our countries at peace?"

He breathed gently, "I will do my best."

I knew that I had a lot of work to do, but I replied, "Me too."

Since I recognized his hand so much, I did not jolt when he held my shoulder. Russia whispered, "Be happy. I do not know what is really bothering you, but can you try this for me?"

I did not know what to say. Russia rubbed my back until I sighed, "How on earth can _you_ be happy, after all that has happened to you?"

"Because I forget, America. It does not feel bad when the people of my country do not remember. They do not know what it felt like, so I do not remember the feeling although I know what happened."

"You just forget?"

"Mm. It does not feel real anymore."

In this moment, it felt a little like that. That America did not exist, his home, and my own, because they were all so far away.

"Can I stay longer?" I asked suddenly but softly.

He set his hand down, as though remembering how long it had been there. "Oh but, what about your plane?"

"I could catch another…"

 _I'm really saying this. No, what would Britain think? Can I really just leave America alone for longer? The bugs… but he said not to worry about them. And… if I am not there, America shouldn't even try to escape. So isn't it alright, to stay longer?_

"Why do you like being here so much?" Russia inquired.

I said, "Because with you, I forget."

"Maybe it is not best thing to hide from your problems."

"But… you don't understand. This isn't something like that."

"Why not?"

I answered, "Because that means I don't want to confront the problem. But, I totally would if I could. I just can't though. I feel so helpless to it."

Russia brushed his fingers down my spine. I could hear the frown in his question, "But what could be like that? Something that America cannot be fixing?"

"Just… please let me stay. I don't want to go back."

Russia sighed, "I do not know if it is good for you to live with me. You have to go home and do your work, which is not easy to do here… But, I do like it when you are here."

"Just a little longer…" My voice tightened as I tried not to whimper. "Not so much longer."

Russia was wavering, but he said, "I don't know… I think you should take the plane back."

"Please," I whispered hurriedly. "A few more days. Just a little longer. Russia… Hasn't it been nice here?"

I turned over and reached out in the dark. When I touched his tensed shoulder, he faltered and relaxed.

"Few more days," he conceded. "But tell your boss that you chose this. I do not want trouble."

"Of course..."

I blew out and felt the warm satisfaction of safety. Now, I could be calmed by the knowledge that my departure date was later. Russia removed my hand from him and mumbled his goodnight to me. Truly, I felt, it would be a good one. With everything settled, I would just alert those I needed to in the morning of my choice.

Britain additionally, before he believed that something horrible had happened to me, here by Russia's hands, or in the basement of America's home.

* * *

The days turned into a few more, since it was easy to convince Russia with a few amicable gestures. Unused to them, he was becoming engrossed with them. He did not want to be alone either, thus our needs fit each other neatly. Russia bought me expensive gifts, such as caviar, and the adventures we went on brought me joy. The kindness of his actions filled the holes of my heart eaten by sorrow.

But after a week had gone by, Russia would not break. He sat beside me on the couch and sighed, "Too long… You have to go back. You don't really belong here."

And he pushed me back a bit when I shifted a little closer, so that he could not be swayed. "You stayed twice as long as you meant to. For meeting that will happen soon too, you have to get ready. You will see me there, America. It will be okay."

"Meeting?"

"You did not check your messages? It is in Spain. We can do something at night there. It is not so far away."

I had no idea what was even happening in the world. America's government was probably doing fine on my vacation, and the messages about Russia had stopped coming. Mine must have also been well, but if anyone was looking for me or America online, then they would have gotten no response.

Come to think of it, Latvia had probably sent me his pictures and was already home again.

"Yes…" I murmured. "We can see each other then."

"I will pay for half the ticket. You have to go home."

 _But that isn't home..._

"Okay…" I conceded. "But, you gotta skype me, bro… Seriously."

"We will do it."

And of course he hugged me many times after, but my grief increased regardless. Booking the ticket then passing the last day was heart-wrenching, but worse when I was at the airport. In front of him, I had to act, but once on the plane, the tears began dripping down my face.

I didn't want to be alone again. I didn't want to know either what America was like now. So much, I just wanted to run away from my responsibilities, but when I thought of it like that, I felt like I was running away from my brother.

 _Like I have accepted he is gone and I've moved on_.

I couldn't let that happen. Britain would hardly let me do that either. The message that he had immediately sent back after I declared that I would stay longer with Russia, proved his discontent.

When I drove back to the conjoined house, it appeared against the night sky as though from the mists of a fairytale. Like a castle tall and foreboding, a feeling of supernatural dread shook me. The chill of the early morning air obscured my understanding of my goosebumps as I walked toward the door. The meaning of this being because, I knew that somewhere below and away, a head was probably lifting and pointing toward my location.

A rotten, maggot-infested face.

I entered the dark room, scrambling for the light. Whiteness washed over the furniture and revealed tranquility, yet a wall of silence met me as I gingerly wheeled in my suitcase. My own steps on the tiles were loud and ominous, shaking the room which I occupied. I looked from left to right, scanning and sniffing cautiously. There was absolutely no movement, and the smell of the house had actually gone down. The staleness that remained required merely a remedy of Febreze, and even more of the wind which came through the cracks of the windows.

With my heart nearly bouncing in my throat, I immediately crept toward the basement door. There, it stood whole and untouched. If anything remained behind it, then it was utterly silent. Waiting, yes. It was definitely waiting.

I retrieved the shovel from America's room. There could be no rest when I had to know _now_ what had happened to America in the two weeks I was gone. Britain had said that America would stop rotting to a certain point, so I thought then that perhaps, he would be not as bad as the last time I had seen him.

 _Maybe… It had been okay not to freeze him._

I unlocked the door. Slowly, I dragged it toward me and revealed the top of the dark staircase. Inhaling the ancient-flavored air, I flicked on the switch and alighted my path. No one else but me was meant to take it, so I alone walked toward the stone floor.

My shovel stayed in front of me. Impatient however, I did not go to the bottom of the stairs. Where the wall cut off, I flashed my head around the corner with my weapon ready to strike anything there.

There was a sharp rattle of chains. A black creature jolted in my direction, a blur that I was unable to observe in details. I croaked and hit the wall, my eyes huge as they tried to steady themselves and observe America in the full.

Enveloped in the silver, a black-muscled skeleton with ragged and greasy clothes raged. The dish cloth still dangled from his mouth, but the remaining teeth were orange and misshapen. Worse without dispute however, were the gaping sockets completely devoid of eyes, those that pointed directly at me.

 _No eyes, no eyes…_

I quaked as I locked onto him and scanned every centimetre of him.

Black. All black he was- nothing else since not a single hairy or sleek insect skittered over him.

 _Where are the bugs… where are they…_

The skeleton yanked and twitched, straining to escape its bonds. Yet the sight of it alone was what disturbed me to the core. I could feel chilled sweat soaking me as I dropped my head back against the stone.

 _He has no eyes…_

The jaw crunched side-to-side, chewing the cloth like a chunk of flesh. I noticed now, a few of the coloured teeth which had fallen on the floor.

 _The bugs are gone… how, how is it possible…?_

My legs trembled awfully. Rapidly losing strength, I began the sink. I clung to the upright shovel to keep myself upright, but it was becoming harder to see. The monster faded away slowly, the sounds of the chains continuing to echo in the room. Silver pulling, pulling away from the wood.

 _Skeleton… no eyes…_

Finally, I lost all my strength and I fell away from the shovel, collapsing into darkness on the stairs.

* * *

When I returned to a state of consciousness, I groaned and felt the tenderness of the bruise on my forehead, from where it had struck the stairs. I pawed the handle of the shovel into my fingers when I felt the wood tickling them. Groggy, I then cast my gaze over to America.

I blinked, then blinked again. The blurry movement of his hands waved at me, the image solidifying until I could see the white sticks of bone peeking through muscle.

 _Hands… Hands!_

America bucked forward, the freed hands slapping the floor and as he dragged his body forward. The skull turned upward to my location as half of his body slipped over the chains. I yelped and jumped up, breathing rapidly in comprehension of the situation.

He had not broken the chains, but he was escaping from them. I saw now the pencil-thinness of his body that writhed to escape the metal that had locked him to the beam. Limbs flashed and scrambled like a frenzied ant, and the energy and strain to reach me encouraged a scream to exit my throat.

America's hips leapt over the chains just as I jumped down, shovel raised to strike. It took only a second for his legs to slip free. The corpse was rising in the time that I skidded and swung down upon it. The rusted metal of the shovel slapped his head, snapping it to the side and inciting a nauseating wet crack. I was ready for more, but in the next instant, America had collapsed to the floor and ceased moving.

Chest heaving, I let the tears fall as I kept my distance. Watching, waiting to see if he would move again.

The dark fingers curled slowly over the floor. I inhaled sharply and raised the shovel back again, but then it was as though a seizure had overtaken America. The body twitched and rolled, choking and clawing. I whimpered in my uncertainty of what was happening and if I was in danger. Terrified, I shrieked and struck it again.

Still he became.

Shivering, I kept my eyes fixed on America as I walked around to the chains. I opened the lock and freed them for adjustment. They would need to be made tighter, thus I began unraveling them. I lay the long length along the floor, making it ready to accept America into it.

 _I have to touch him._

The splinter-legs bent as he began to reanimate himself. I poked the shovel into him, then slid it under him, turning him onto his back. America did not react to this and not even his face was toward me anymore. The back of his head faced me instead, matted hair and empty eyes away. It was therefore easier to approach him, tentatively reaching out to soggy flesh.

My guts twitched at the feeling in my hand. I clung to his arm and dragged him, but I felt something giving around the bone. Frightened that I would damage him, I grabbed under his shoulder, groaning at the black juices which oozed over my skin. It snuck under my fingernails as I sat America up against the beam of wood again.

The head slowly turned my way. I snapped out to the chains, yet just as I obtained the metal in my hand, something slick pawed my forearm. My blood froze as I gazed at the fingers trailing down my arm then falling weakly away.

As they left me however, a crystal realization of guilt overtook me.

 _Does he know it's me?_

I grabbed the chains and started wrapping them around him, moving his arms behind his back. America's arms immediately left the place that I had put them, moving out to me. Swallowing, I watched the bony fingers weakly touch my arms again. The wrist of his right hand turned and he grasped onto the wrist of mine.

I stared for a moment, trying to understand and trying to find the right feeling. Then, I began to feel afraid. I jolted and attacked the hand with my other, but too late it became. The grip tightened and it did not remove itself at my first strike against it. America's other hand took hold my other wrist, while the rest of him rose up and toward me.

The chains slid down to the ground. I hopped back and he came with me, but my kick to his chest separated us. Gasping, I raced to the shovel. As my feet slapped the floor, I became aware of another pair of feet, lighter and fast, approaching rapidly from behind. The sounds thundered close and with a yip, I dove at the shovel, grabbing it and rolling away.

A mighty crash came and now I saw the emaciated creature colliding into a shelf, crumbling and going still. Gripping the shovel, I cursed the sympathy I had just had for him. I moved in with plans formulating in my mind as to how I would get him locked back up.

 _He can move, but he is weak._

I grabbed America and quickly dragged him back. Just as I put him back against the wood, a hand snatched my wrist and painfully tight. Searching for my other arm blindly, he missed constantly as I swung my weapon. Before the impact, my wrist was found and I gasped when the shovel was stopped just above his head.

Tighter he grabbed, and stronger was the force that kept my arm up. I squeaked and pushed down, my strength overpowering his and breaking his grip. I pushed him away and America dropped onto his back, but as I bent to the chains, a change overcame him. I hardly saw the movement as he lunged at me, muffled cries behind the towel as the oozing body fell onto me.

In a flurry of limbs, I could not organize the shovel and ended up punching and kneeing in panic. America stuck to me however, shrieking himself and grabbing at whatever he could. Fingernails dug into my bicep and broke my skin. The moment I felt this, I remembered what had happened to Britain, and I fought with true power.

America was tossed away yet he was instantly back, faster, stronger, and louder. The nubs of teeth gnawed the cloth and I turned my back to it, running to escape the foul touch. I bent and grabbed the length of the chain, continuing to sprint as America scratched at my back.

I hopped around the beam, whereas America instantly crashed into it, blind as he was. He knew nothing about the location of objects, but only knew about me. While in his stunned state, I quickly looped the chains around him and the beam, yanking back and pinning his back against it. The chains crossed as a tight X, and no matter how America pulled, I kept him in place.

Finally, I sighed from my success. I carefully wrapped the chains around him with tension, and he kicked and bucked uselessly. I dragged the lock back toward me with my foot, then clipped the chains together. The lock dropped against his chest, like a metal version of a heart to replace the one that was missing.

I bent over and caught my breath, simultaneously feeling all the stinking liquids drying on me. The fear was gone now, when so much relief held me.

 _I did it… He's back in there. He's too weak to break the chains, so it's alright…_

But I took one last look at him and around him. If I stared carefully at the stained ground decorated with a few teeth, I could see some tiny dead bodies, backs to the ground and legs to the ceiling. This relieved me further naturally, but it left me in confusion.

 _How had America killed the bugs? Has he somehow become toxic to them?_ _Did this happen last time too?_

Becoming clean again would be my first priority. I removed my disguise and washed myself and any surface which I had touched. Then, I made it back to my living room where I plugged in my computer to charge. I did not know where Britain would be or what time it was for him, but I attempted to call him online. When no response came, I simply left a message with my question instead.

 _He doesn't need to know about America escaping. The chains didn't break so… he doesn't need to worry any more than he already does. As for America maybe recognizing me… I think Britain already talked about that. He doesn't need to know that either..._

I took a quick glance at what I would have to deal with tomorrow as Canada, then sent off some simple messages to announce my return. I got out America's computer and committed the same task. Only a minute later however, the call that interrupted the silence made me gasp. Focusing on the screen however, I noticed that it was not Britain calling me.

It was Russia.

I cleared my throat and readied my voice. I accepted the call, but did not turn on the video.

"Oh, hey man," I yawned. "A little late, isn't it?"

"Mmm," Russia replied quietly. "I know but, I saw that you were online."

I inhaled deeply, calming myself and adding an appearance of fatigue. "Okay…?"

"You got back alright?" Russia asked.

"Yeah, of course."

"Okay. This is all."

"You're weird, dude," I replied gently. "You called me for just that?"

He smiled in his words. "I wanted to hear you so I could know your mood."

"Right."

"So then, goodnight, America. Do not forget the music."

"I won't…"

Russia said, "See you later. Soon. The meeting, _da_?"

I squeezed inward. "W-wait…"

He must have caught onto the vulnerability in my voice. His voice slipped into a completely consoling whisper, with each word caressing my quivering body.

"What is it...?"

"Can I tell you… about the dream I had on the way back?"

"Were you dreaming then too?"

"Yes."

Russia whispered, "Tell me."

I slipped my fingers under the computer and carried it into my room. I turned off the light and curled up in the bed, although with the bright light of the computer beaming away from my face. There I sunk down, describing what had just happened to me, about the zombie that had wiggled out of the chains, which had chased me after first gently touching my arms. A zombie I had to fight, and one that I had to lock up.

"Why do you dream so much of zombies?" Russia asked.

"I don't know. What do you make of it? What would you do?"

I closed my eyes and listened, pretending that he was beside me.

"I don't know…" he mumbled. "I usually fear real things… people."

I swallowed, wishing that I had gotten more. Russia continued on with a different subject instead.

"But, I think that you are afraid of death," Russia murmured. "Or you dying. You were saying that it was you, but sometimes it was not you."

 _That's the truth of my life._

"Why?" He hummed. "You are healthy and strong. Everyone in your dreams are too. Why do you worry so much, America? You are not the only one who thinks about the death of other nations. It is okay for me though, because if I am dreaming about deaths that I may cause, I am not bothered."

"Because it should bother us I guess," I sighed. "We shouldn't want others to die."

"But I do not like the others."

I ran my hand over the comforter. "Is that how you feel when you dream about me?"

"No, America, not anymore. It would make me sad now to be dreaming about you dying."

"No one else's death would bother you? How 'bout my bro, Canada?"

Russia breathed, "No… I do not know Canada. Maybe I will not care, but I have never dreamt of him dying."

My heart clenched, but I calmed myself. It was still me that Russia cared about, whether he knew it or not.

"Alright…" I said.

"You are my friend now," Russia pressed. "And we will stay good friends forever."

I realized that I was not afraid of that statement, although Russia had voiced it in a darker tone as a warning.

"Yes," I agreed. "Let's."

There was a pause. Gentle once more, Russia asked, "Will you sleep now?"

"How about… you tell me something. You can hang up when I fall asleep."

He breathed out a chuckle and agreed.

I then murmured, "Tell me… one of your happiest memories."

"Happiest memory…?" And I heard Russia smiling from far away. "Ah, okay…"

The voice that he used to ease me into sleep was much more therapeutic than the music could have ever been. Wrapped up in the blankets, I felt entirely cozy and comforted in my bed. My heavy eyelids dropped and I fell asleep, but returned to catch some of the middle lines of his story.

"... _and there, I found the flowers. They were so beautiful and tall, the prettiest kind of sunflower I had ever seen. I was very small and weak, so I did not hurt flower when I hugged it_ …"

" _Mmm_ …" I exhaled as I fell in and out of consciousness. I relaxed and disappeared, waking perhaps a few minutes later to hear a little more.

"... _but I watched him die, and I was afraid. I never did this again…_ "

I rolled and flopped, slurring, "What're you saying, Russia? Said happy, didn't I...?"

But I faded away and did not return. Whatever remained of his story, of his supposedly happy memory, it was lost to my unhearing ears. I did not worry for him though, for the reason that he had not sounded sad. Russia seemed as content as could be, and so I merely let the soothing accent carry me to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

So much work had been necessary to do in order for me to catch up and then prepare for the meeting. Decisively, I was going to seize this chance to make some real change. America would come to the meeting well-informed and open minded, surprising all with a respectful attitude.

Britain had answered my inquiry about the insects, saying that it had happened last time too as some sort of healing reflex. Something in him had made him poisonous to them, and Britain had warned that it was healthier for me to avoid touching him too much. Nevertheless, nothing had happened to the skin of mine that he had carefully grazed his fingers over.

Additionally, the bruise on my head had disappeared quickly, and so my appearance was long since ready for the world meeting. For the smaller ones meetings as well, whenever I had to pass as America or as a capped Canada. Nevertheless, the full show was about to fall upon me. When I flew to Spain, I came not only as a perfect copy of America, but as a prepared one who had come _early_.

As a result, I was the first to enter through the open door into the predetermined room. Spain was inside, finishing the last of his preparations and setting a few more folded papers onto the table. Alerted by my arrival, he paused and blinked in disbelief. Then, Spain beamed and cried, "America! What are you doing here so early?"

I smirked. "Well, I've been making some changes to my lifestyle."

"Oh, really?" he exclaimed.

"Yeah," I laughed. "I'm gonna try more now and actually contribute to the meeting."

"Wow, that's great!" His eyes were bright in legitimate encouragement. "I'm happy that you want to help!"

I walked around the large table and found the nametag that I was meant to be assigned to. I left my bag on the floor beside the chair, then looked around at the names around me. _Canada_ was already placed beside _America_. Knowing exactly how to deal with it, I swung my bag onto the table and squashed the name tag under it.

Spain had had his back turned. He was currently on his way toward the door, stopping only to look back and explain to me, "I'll be back soon! Not completely ready yet…"

The instant that he was gone, I jumped up and grabbed the other nametag beside me. I rushed _Lithuania_ away and dropped it where _Russia_ had been, putting _Russia_ adjacent to me. Then, on the other side of where _Canada_ had demolished, I replaced _Germany_ with _England_.

The bag buffer between us could make it easy to pass notes. I assumed also that Spain was going to forget that he had even put Canada beside me, even if he knew well that Russia had been meant to be far away from me. Undoubtedly, everyone was going to know that Spain had not chosen that. Everyone was going to be blown away to see him next to me, but I did not mind. If they could see _America_ as being a friend of Russia, it could promote better feelings for him.

Spain came back and did not notice the switch yet. It was only after more had come, that something confused him. He looked from Germany's new location and found Britain's nametag in his original place. Not yet noticing Russia or the disappearance of Canada, he pointed me out in front of the few others for this.

"Hey, America, you switched those two!"

"Sorry." I pulled my lip to the side. "I hope it's not a problem."

I could see that it wasn't really. Spain raised a shoulder and admitted, "I guess so, but you could have asked at least! I could have just done that for you."

The seats filled up over the next half hour. Russia came at some point in the middle of this timeframe, scanning for his name then finding it beside me. He smiled and approached, sliding into the chair and whispering, "Did you do this?"

"Yeah."

Russia smiled more. "This makes me feel more like you care. I will be happy to be beside you today."

He took out his note-taking materials, and I decided to do the same as well. Already, I noticed people giving us the most confounded looks, evidently wondering if we were both acting.

"No glasses again?" he murmured.

"Nah."

"Do you get smarter without them?" he chuckled.

I laughed softly back, "I don't know, maybe. Seems like it though, doesn't it?"

I did not think that anyone else could hear us. Those who watched us appeared ever the more baffled as I shared my laughter with Russia. I opened my laptop, which was a great contrast to Russia's notebook, so he regarded it and teased me lightly. I joked back, remarking on his low-tech option. Amused, Russia explained simply that he had wanted to concentrate.

I shut the computer and took out the spare notebook that I had taken. Matching him, I smiled and tapped my pen against the blank sheet of lined paper. Russia's gaze softened much more, transforming what was usually an intimidating figure at the meeting, into something much nicer. The smaller countries that I caught sight of seemed to be taking an interest to it.

"They like how happy you look," I informed him in a whisper.

Russia gazed across the table, but they had quickly looked away before he could see them.

"They just looked away," I explained. "But they were watching you. If you show them something gentle, they'll like you more."

"Just like what you are doing?"

"Yeah, exactly."

At that moment, Britain strode into the room. He found his place beside me, checking his watch then staring over and finding Russia.

"So you've done it," he exhaled, referring to our tentative friendship. "I have to say, I am impressed."

"Hello, Britain." The smile Russia gave to him showed how he was irritated.

"Yes. Hello, Russia."

"Could ya be a little nicer to him?" I asked, keeping myself in character. "He's officially my new bud. Could be yours too."

That, I hoped, was loud enough to be heard by the others. Russia shifted in pleasure and put his hand over my shoulder for a second. Some mouths may have dropped, but I enjoyed the feeling of his heavy hand after so much time had passed without it. I remembered the power it had to disperse my nightmares, since despite Kumajiro's snuggling efforts, Russia remained the only successful one.

Britain gazed at him skeptically, then focused on his own affairs. As I looked away from him and back across the table, Russia found my relaxed hand and snuck something into it. Glancing down, I found an individually wrapped candy.

"I bought this before I left," he whispered. No one had had seen what had transpired under the edge of the table, and now I uncurled my fingers to see that he had placed a Russian chocolate there.

"Thanks," I whispered back. "You're awesome."

I unwrapped it carefully then popped the whole of it into my mouth. It tasted almost like a Kitkat, thus I nodded in enjoyment. Russia slipped something different into my hand, and after I had tasted that too, more kept coming until I had sampled everything.

Then, he said, "Tell me when you want more. I have many in my bag."

"Will do."

A few minutes later, Spain formally brought the meeting to a start. I kept quiet throughout the introduction, something that I knew America never did. I ignored the faces turned to me in expectation, clasping only my hands and looking up without distraction. When I was quiet, I noticed, others were quiet too. The meeting went on calmly with many trying to copy my example.

Germany was looking at me with awed relief, but he still cast a wary eye at Russia. Eventually wondering what Britain thought about my abnormal American behaviour, I peeked to my left and saw him writing. Later though, he touched me with one finger from behind the cover of my bag. I looked down and noticed that he had passed a paper to me with writing on it.

 _I want to see America and drop off some ingredients. Can I come over soon after this meeting?_

I gave a tiny nod to Britain. Russia was looking across the table at Estonia and did not notice anything. Britain withdrew the paper and hid it among the pages of his notebook, but then because of him, I came up with an idea of how to amuse Russia. Quietly and slowly, I ripped a page from my notebook then took it under the table. There, I tore it into smaller pieces.

I collected the white scraps in my lap. One was placed on the table, where I went at it with my pen before bringing it back down out of sight. I placed it down onto Russia's leg, who then dipped his head down to see what was there. Grasping it between his fingers and holding it closer to me, I saw Russia behold the words _drawing contest?_

He smiled, turned the paper over, and wrote an answer over his leg. Then, he passed it back.

 _Yes_

 _You are very funny._

Russia looked around to make sure no one had noticed anything going on here. I went back to listening, but knew that Russia was carefully tearing off a page for himself and ripping it apart. Every few minutes from then on, I announced the subject through a note, then turned over the paper and did my drawing. Russia also drew on his lap, then we exchanged.

Even when the subjects were simple, such as _cat_ , _corn_ , or _pinecone_ , we were never drawing to impress. It became a game of who could draw the most ridiculous versions of the subjects, and I had to conceal my smiles and giggles. He had even started adding the translations into Russian with bubbly letters on the back of his cards. I could not believe that Russia was really doing this with me, but he seemed absolutely playful now that he was ignoring the smaller countries and no longer staring at them.

Which was good for them. They could relax at the meeting while Russia shifted close to me and passed over his innocent sketches. With each of my pictures given to him, he would then slip it into his bag for safekeeping. Knowing that what I was doing was significant for him and because I was also enjoying this immensely, I also kept his drawings. Since Britain was the only one able to kind of see some kind of exchange going on between us, he took out his paper and slipped a question to me.

 _What are you doing with Russia?_

I wrote on the paper on the table, _Drawing pictures. Do you want to join us?_

Britain frowned and replied, _No, but I'm glad that at least you're distracting Russia._

 _I want him to have fun and feel like we are friends._

 _All right._

Britain did not seem upset, but he could not understand the reason for our friendship. I assumed that he did not trust Russia to actually care about me. Russia however, was eagerly waiting for the next subject to draw. I randomly selected an animal, then received a card of a puffy, smiling hedgehog, described as ЁЖ.

More paper had to be ripped up to make more cards. Russia breathed with laughter whenever the game continued, although we paused whenever the time for commentary would come. That was when I announced my well-founded opinions, those that I had practiced saying for today. Russia spoke at times too, as did Britain, but my words were the most atypical. Throughout the hours that this meeting would take, many spoke, and yet my words were the ones that stunned all.

 _It is what I would have said as Canada, but no one listens to me then. I can't believe this. I have so much power!_

Russia passed me another picture, and this time I passed it directly to Britain before storing it away. He took a glance at it, then immediately fought against smiling. He pressed his fingers to his lips at the sight of the badly drawn Germany.

He wrote, _That is hilarious._

 _Russia drew it_ , I explained, fairly certain that he did not suspect that.

His eyebrows lifted. Wrinkling his forehead, suddenly the picture did not seem funny anymore to him. When he said no more, I put away Russia's carefree drawing. Leaving him be, we continued our game for a while, until the time for a snack break came. Then, I separated from Russia to go off and mingle. With the desire to make an impression on more than just Russia, I found others who did not think so highly of America.

Just as I finally decided to feed myself, France approached me. Clasping a glass in one hand, he glanced around me and asked, "Hey, where is Canada today?"

I said, "Oh, he didn't come."

"What?" France gasped. "But how couldn't he? This is a very important meeting!"

Chuckling, I replied, "It's fine. He probably wouldn't've said anything anyway."

Growing concerned, France whispered hurriedly, "Is he _sick_? Did something happen?"

I looked around me, but only saw Britain heading toward us. I murmured, "He's fine. Between you and me, we're actually doing a test to see if anyone'd notice if he didn't come."

"What?" he gasped. "But that's so irresponsible! How could Canada do this? Are you sure? I don't think that he would do that!"

Britain stepped into hearing range. Feigning confusion, he asked, "What did Canada do?"

Although still quiet enough to not attract the attention of others, France burst out, "Canada didn't come today! For some kind of bet at that!"

"Oh?" Britain's acting was sharp, and he looked at me as if genuinely surprised.

"Yeah," I answered, without really appearing to care about the conservation. "So don't spread it. You guys might be the only ones to catch on anyway."

Britain waved it off, "Of course I won't, to spare him the trouble. But you two shouldn't be so irresponsible, and France is actually right about that! I better have a talk with him if he's planning to make a habit out of this."

France nodded in agreement, and despaired. "I'll talk to him too, to make sure he's okay…!"

France touched the side of his face. As he was busy thinking, I turned away and left while I had the chance. I took some food and tried to hide myself to eat in peace, which became impossible once Estonia had caught up to me. Surprised however by his swift pace and upset expression, I knew straight away that he would say something serious.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Russia!" he gasped. "He's just threatened Lithuania!"

"Wh-what? How?"

"You have to do something about it-"

"Show me," I interrupted, heart pounding shallow beats as I desperately wanted to disbelieve this news.

 _No, Russia, don't let that be true..._

Estonia wordlessly took me down the hall from which he had come. In one of the rooms, I was shown to Lithuania, although Russia was nowhere in sight. Lithuania was silent and holding his arm while he leaned against the wall, but upon my entrance, he looked up at me. In his eyes was a stern message, that I needed to find Russia and punish him.

I did not want to look weak in those eyes, so I was driven into action. I sped down the hall, peeking into each unlocked room, despite how every bit of me was opposed to confronting Russia. In fact, I didn't want to hear their stories, but his instead. Although Lithuania had looked victimized, I felt that I would believe whatever he said about Russia to be exaggerated.

Russia was found by himself in another room. Upon my swift arrival, he spun around and was ready for me. His eyebrows lowered and he stood tall, unwilling to break against any hostility that I might throw his way.

"So you believe them?" he muttered. "So quickly, and you will forget the time we spent together?"

"I haven't talked with them," I murmured as I closed the door. "I wanted to talk to you first."

Russia's shoulders dropped in our peaceful isolation. However, he watched my movements with wary eyes, and did not speak at first.

"I want to know what you said and why you said it." I encouraged him with my continuously calm voice. "I won't punish you."

Russia stared at me for a few more seconds. Then, he sighed, "I wanted to see what you would do. I was telling Lithuania to leave NATO. We started talking about it and I do not know why... And then I just decided to see what would happen. It is true though, that I do not want him to fight against me… After all, _everyone_ seems to be with you against me."

My attentiveness and tranquil composure had let Russia say everything that he had wanted to. Now, I neared him and murmured, "I'm not angry at you."

He passed me a confused expression.

"I know you don't like that NATO exists, for one. And I know that you don't fully trust me, so you took the opportunity to test me. But look, I'm not just here waiting to snap at you. I don't want to fight you anymore."

More uncomfortable and puzzled he appeared, backing off slightly and blinking.

"I don't understand," Russia inhaled. "Just one day a while ago, you started being friendly with me… I want to have trust for you because I like this so much… but I can't."

"Can't what?" I stepped closer, but he wouldn't let me near him for the time being.

"Why are you so different now?" Russia set his full attention upon me. "What has happened to you?"

"What? You want me to go back to how I was treating you before?"

Russia shook his head.

I said, "Everything just happened so suddenly. I realized the responsibility and power I had, so now… I am here to change things."

Russia broke eye contact and replied quickly, "I thought you would yell at me and things would go back. Now I don't know what to do. I am wondering if you are just very smart, and saw my trick. Maybe you are angry with me right now… You are either acting, or you are my good friend."

"Come on, I'm not acting. You gotta trust me- we're friends."

"Maybe we shouldn't be." Russia turned away a bit. "You might be dangerous to me."

"I haven't done anything to you and I lived with you for two weeks!" I spread out my arms in disbelief. "And neither did you! If something bad was gonna happen, it would have! Why are you afraid?"

I came closer as Russia looked down. He murmured, "I do not like uncertainty, America."

"Come _on_ ," I sighed, stepping up to him and opening my arms. Russia's eyes widened for a moment, but then his expression relaxed. His eyes shut and he dove into me, hugging tightly and laying his chin on my shoulder.

Blond hair tickled my eyelashes while I breathed calmly and touched my face into his scarf. But then, a thought must have spooked him, since his grip tightened. It began to hurt, so I carefully moved back from him. Russia unlocked his hold, but grabbed my upper arm before I could part a metre's distance from him.

"Do not trick me," he muttered. "I will find a way to hurt you if you are lying to me."

The dark shift in his tone frightened me. Trying not to show my anxiety, but beginning to sweat under America's coat, I hushed him.

"I'm serious," I whispered. "Relax already. I won't do anything bad to you."

I needed him to relax because he was really starting to hurt me. Believing me to America, he was likely expecting that I was stronger than I really was. Russia probably thought that I could shove him off right now if I wanted to, but I realized then that I couldn't pry off his grip even if I wanted to. Not wishing to show him how weak I was, I patted his back instead.

Coaxed, he let go and dropped his arms. Russia stayed near me though, looking everywhere except for into my eyes. One of his hands crept into his pocket, but it didn't look as though he knew what to say now. I chose to hug him instead, stroking the plane of his back and at last easing his tensed muscles. Then, I heard a quick crinkle as Russia moved away. On the verge of saying something to him, I felt his hand on my cheek before a piece of chocolate was slipped in between my teeth.

Russia walked past me and opened the door. He turned into the hall and disappeared just as I bit into the treat. I chewed hurriedly as I trotted to the doorway, but he had gotten too far for me to call after him. I instead walked toward the busy tables in the hall as he found himself a drink. Before coming close to him however, Lithuania caught up to me.

"Did you finish it?" he whispered.

"Don't worry; it's handled," I replied, before waving him off. I couldn't even come any closer however, before Lithuania was replaced by Germany.

"America." There was no useless discussion. "What is going on today? Are you alright?"

"Of course," I answered. "What wouldn't I be?"

"It's just… You've been quiet and participating a lot today. Your behaviour around Russia is interesting as well… I heard rumours that you stayed at his place for two weeks?"

 _How on earth do you know about that?_

"Well, as you've also probably heard, I don't want to be an asshole any more," I chuckled. "So, that includes Russia yes. Popped over for a visit and he showed me around. Wasn't bad actually. You could try it."

Germany tilted his head forward and to the side. "But you made him sit beside you, did you not? What is that about?"

"Worried that I might be friends with him?"

Taken back, he stammered, "Er, well… It would not make sense considering-"

"I don't care. How about we don't care? Russia's nice as a person, you know. Don't compare him to his government. He can't really control that."

Now Germany was stunned and he hung back as Spain jumped in.

"America!" he called, then quieted down a tad. "What's with you today?"

And I tried to explain it all to him as well, but then France supported the inquiry about Russia. Then another came, and another still. Soon I was surrounded by a crowd and holding my own, but past their bodies, I saw Russia striding back into the meeting room. He looked back at the crowd once, aware of how they swarmed me, and allowed me just one glance of a neutral visage.

When the time to recommence came near, they left me. I hurried to retake my seat beside Russia, and was everyone was back in place, I began writing to him again.

 _Man, they are so wild about our friendship! They can't believe it!_

Russia slipped me back a message. _I am happy they know now._

Yet when I looked up at him after reading the note, he gazed back at me with a saddened expression. In fact, he looked weary, bending to the side as though he would collapse into sleep on my shoulder.

I quickly wrote, _What's wrong?_

Russia replied, _I do not want to be alone anymore._

The next note that I wrote was caringly patted into the palm of his hand.

 _You won't be. I'll be there for you._

 _But_ , he had argued. _You will go home soon._

 _It's not forever._

Russia nodded slowly. Since he still looked sad, I decided to write, _Can I have a chocolate?_

Russia found another one in his pocket and passed it to me. I opened it, kept my eyes on the current speaker of the meeting, then put the exposed chocolate onto his leg.

" _Take it_ ," I whispered from the corner of my mouth.

Russia inconspicuously sneaked it past his lips. After, he drank some water from the cup he had taken with him, with his eyes looking brighter than before.

I gave him another note:

 _Give one to Brit._

Russia wrinkled his eyebrows while reading. He replied, _They are for us._

 _It's good to be nice to the others_

Russia complied and passed me a candy. I in turn, slipped it to Britain from behind the backpack's cover. Britain inspected it and quickly noticed the Cyrillic writing on the wrapper. He looked at me instead of Russia, and did not open it at first.

I mouthed the words for him to _eat it_. Britain exhaled through his nose, then finally opened it. He ate it for my sake, and then did not speak even after swallowing it. He went back to his notes and ignored Russia.

Russia wrote to me, _This is why I do not do things for others._

 _You have to try_ , I answered. _You have to treat them nice and eventually change will happen_

 _I do not believe this._

 _Please treat them good. You have to stop scaring them like you did today, then they'll all like you._

Russia insisted, _I do not care about them._

 _Why not? I do._

 _You do?_ He dipped his head and examined me.

 _I want to take care of all the nations of the world._

Russia looked up and then down to his lap. He wrote, _Latvia said that you were nice to him._

 _I was nice to him. Could you be too? Don't scare him._

Russia stared back across the table at the Baltics, shook his head, then scratched a note.

 _They have done nothing for me. But, I will be nice if it will make you happy._

He touched my knee for a moment, spreading his fingers over the bone. Then, his hand went back to his own lap and he pretended to be interested in the meeting. I began to participate again, where Russia took extra time to randomly give me detailed drawings. I made none for him when I became busy, but occasionally I received cute images of characters from what seemed to be a cartoon.

I was given what looked to be a bear cub with abnormally large ears, who was also holding a flower. What came next was a crocodile standing and wearing a coat and hat. I examined Russia as he drew the next picture, and saw that there was a permanent smile on his face. He covered it from my prying eyes, then laughed softly whenever he gave me something new after that.

On the next break, I asked him about his drawings. Russia stood next to me, smiled broadly with a light in his eyes, and purred, " _Cheburashka_."

"What's that?" I asked.

"We'll watch it sometime, America." He looked at me with utter tranquility in his features, as he hinted at his desire to see me again.

"I don't know the next time I'll be free," I murmured. "To uh, go to your place again. I just took two weeks off."

"Mmm, I understand."

The others were bothering me less now. I could speak with them without Russia being brought up again, right until the meeting proceeded. Our busy day lasted all the way into the late evening without any major issues arising, and with a surprisingly successful end result. Nevertheless, no one new acted friendly to Russia, much to my distaste.

"Will you go to the club tonight, America?" Russia asked quietly in the conclusion, when all were packing their things.

"Why you asking?"

"I do not like going, but I will go if I can go with you."

I knew that America _always_ went to these events. Although I wanted to deny the whole thing, I said, "Of course! Tag along with me, though I'll probably stick around Britain for the most part."

"Yes, yes. I did not mean to make you alone with me. I just do not want to be alone. If there are others, I hope they will be my friends too."

I gave him a thumbs up and a wink. I knew as well that other nations had seen my actions without hearing my words, which was all for the best. We left the room, and Russia went away on his own before Britain found me.

"What were you talking about with him?" he asked.

Keeping in character, I replied with America's voice, "He was wondering about the party thing tonight. He wants to come with us. You're cool with that, right?"

"I suppose there isn't any choice," Britain answered, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. "But I don't know how Russia will be. He hardly ever comes to these events, instead choosing to sneak off goodness knows where."

"You can pick who else will arrive with us. We're all going to the same spot but hey, whatever makes you feel comfortable."

He regarded me apprehensively, but I would not let his judgments bother me. We went back to the hotel room that we had booked together, and did not mention him again. We instead fooled with the Internet on our computers, allowing ourselves some time alone before the excitement that would come later that night.

* * *

As a pack, I moved in with Britain, France, and Spain. Britain had chosen France, France asked Spain, then the rest was only a met-you-there arrangement. With at least a secure group structure to always return to, we entered prepared into the colourful scene of music and alcohol. And here, was the very place that America thrived in better than me in front of all these countries.

I was not ignorant about partying, since I myself was North American. Although, normally I would be utterly embarrassed to act unintelligently in front of the others, I could do as I pleased with this American and radiating confidence, I sauntered up to the bar to order a beer. Drinking was a necessity, but I could sip so that it might not be noticed that I was saving on how much I would buy. Perhaps if I danced hard enough, I could even sweat myself into sobriety.

As a backup, Britain had been commanded to escort me out if I became drunk and started blabbering. He promised that he would be extremely careful with his alcohol tonight in order to be able to guard me. Believing him, I acted relaxed- so in other words, boisterous and laughing. I swung the beer to my lips, but moved my throat with the empty swallows as I saw more familiar faces entering the vicinity.

Without hesitation, I yelled at each of them even if it embarrassed them. They greeted me back, mostly energetically, then lined themselves up at the bar one-by-one. Preparing themselves, all began pouring drinks into them to blur away the business of the day. I glimpsed how even serious Germany was deeply gulping beer and beginning to undergo the standard transformation.

I didn't feel drunk, but the music was accelerating my heart. Blood pumping and ears drumming to the beats, I began tapping and bouncing as the lights in the club seemed to grow brighter and brighter. I drank some more, then sprang from the stool. I snatched Britain and tossed him out into the dancing crowd, pushing out France and then Spain, then crying, "Come on already! Get dancing!"

Spain clapped suddenly and whooped, one of the first to begin to give in. Britain looked a little unsure, knowing that there was still a darkness hiding under my act, even if now the fun felt real to me. I turned away and raced down the bar, grabbing and throwing random nations toward the people. Eager for exercise and a reversal from sitting all day, many yipped out in joy and began jumping with fists in the air.

Hips snapped out and rocked, and yet I had to be the wildest of them all. Whooping louder than anyone else had, I leapt into the middle of the dance floor and gathered attention onto myself. The booming music was fast, and with the eyes upon me I needed to _move_. There was no time to think about technique- I leapt and twirled, punched the air, and made an incredible amount of noise. Cheers and claps arose around me, encouraging, and I spun until the faces and lights became a streaked blur.

I skipped and tapped my feet until the clacking of many other pairs of feet joined me. Then came a moment of clarity, where I whirled around to observe the effect I had caused. In a circle around me were the nations dancing without restraint; there just on my left, was Denmark as an energetic blur, Hungary spinning Austria, Poland jumping with Lithuania, and South Korea latching onto Thailand while screaming for him to dance _faster_. Some were heading to the bar and others resided there- Latvia chugged from a mug nearly the size of his face, Finland collected empty shots around himself under Sweden's eyes, and Germany was drinking as as though today was his last day.

I flicked sweat off my head and danced back to my seat. The beer was swung to my lips before I slammed it down and whipped out America's phone. I called Russia despite the noise, wanting to shout and be as crazy as America would be while calling someone from a club.

"Hey!" I hollered. "You! Where are you?"

Russia said something, but I couldn't hear him over the music and yelling.

"You gotta scream, man! I can't hear you!"

"I do not want to go anymore."

"What?" I shouted. "Why?"

"I does not feel right."

France was coming back over in my direction. I smiled broadly and cried to Russia, "Get yo ass over here already! We're just getting started!"

"I don't know…"

"Come on! You're gonna have fun! Show me how you dance, you russky _cyka_!"

Russia stammered, "Ah-ah, okay, America… I will come."

I hung up and threw myself into the crowd, who screamed in pleasure upon my return. Dashing into the middle, I danced fervently and made some more noise which the others echoed. The power was mine- I had become the party itself, and with this realization, I only heated the flames. I could feel the energy spiking, my heart shrieking in excitement as my sweat rained off me.

My beer disappeared and another one arrived, vanishing as well before Russia slipped into the club. I spotted him from afar in casual clothes. Grinning, I skipped to him, knowing that he had come prepared to sweat.

"Russia! Finally! Why'd you change your mind?"

"I was worried," he responded. "I didn't want everyone to reject me."

We headed to the bar, where he ordered some liqour. I talked over him, crying, "Are you crazy? Everyone's getting tanked and going nuts! They're gonna forget to hate you if you just start dancing!"

Russia swallowed the shot quickly.

"You are right, I think," he admitted. "Just stay near me please, even when I am doing dancing."

"Of course, dude! Drink up then show us what you've got!"

Russia drank one more before he stalked out during the beginning of a fast-pace song. No one had expected much from him when he strode normally out into the middle, and in passing by other nations, they hadn't even noticed him. Excited to see what would happen, I trailed him until the center.

Russia did not hesitate there to drop down into a squat and begin whipping out his long legs. Instantly and initially, the attention of normal people was grabbed. Multiple immediately shouts rang out:

" _Whoa, look at that guy_!"

" _Oh damn_!"

" _Shit, how's he doing that_?"

And just like that, a sea of cheers and timed applause complimented his moves. With admirable balance and strength, Russia kicked out and spun in circles, himself clapping and performing tricks with his arms. Those that I knew marched forward now, pushing for a better view where they then stood out, clapping for him. The nations that usually feared or despised him, absolutely relished him now. The buzzed Baltics clapped and hopped, Germany called out to him, and Nordics and Benelux countries stamped and leapt, dancing in pure elation.

Russia sprang to his feet and stuck a pose, allowing himself to be showered with cheer. At that point, Belarus had driven Ukraine into the center beside Russia as he gasped for breath. She wobbled, infected by all the drinks she had, yet was driven by the roars.

She too, dropped down and kicked, balancing perfectly on her toes as she went faster and faster. Russia smiled and clapped with them, until the crowd cried out to him.

"Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!"

They pounded the floor, seeming to shake the very air. Russia fell down and copied her current move, changing when she changed, the two of them smiling and sweating as they concealed their fatigue. Ukraine performed just as well as he did, since this male Cossack dance and its renowned athletic skills was present among both their cultures. And the two truly made a show, for now they could dance back-to-back and in circles, providing the ring with a constant view of the dance.

I must have been the loudest, overwhelmed with rapture and pride. They _loved_ Russia, and no one was even speaking about their rivalry. There, the two siblings had forgotten it all. There were no more governments and military confrontations for here, there was only the pure human delight of culture and fun.

They jumped up together, hands held together and raised into the air. Their frees arms opened up to the crowd, inviting the applause and daring anyone to attempt to beat them. A few drunken teenagers hopped in and tried to copy the feat they had done, falling promptly onto their backs and inciting laughter from the crowd. The mood was so light and free; the laughter soon turned into claps for effort, and eventually some other people moved in to show off their robotic dance moves.

Russia and Ukraine wandered off, controlling their gasps to keep an impressive air. Both wanted water at the bar, but contrarily both wanted alcohol after. I pounced on Russia, grabbing him from his back and shaking him.

"Oh my _god_ , you guys were awesome!"

Russia smiled and gave me a light shove back. I knew that he was completely pleased with his decision to come, and once he finished his drink, he patted Ukraine.

"Let us get Belarus," he proclaimed. "We will drink together!"

He got up from his chair, but before I could wander off anywhere, Russia held me by the back of my shirt's collar.

"You too, America! You will join us!"

Once Belarus had eagerly come over, the game of shots began. I was dragged into it, but Britain had kept track of all of my movements and came over now to watch over me. No one stopped me from this friendly competition, but Britain, while acting as though he was entertained, was really scrutinizing my actions.

"More, more!" Russia insisted, touching Belarus's glass from the bottom and rushing her hand to her face. She swallowed then coughed, cuffing him then hugging him tightly. Belarus regarded me from that position, but something about her was different. Her eyes were soft instead of very sharp, and her face appeared smoother. There was no hostility in how she looked at me, making me realize why she had never asked me about Russia like the others had.

 _She likes that I'm his friend. She wants me to be his friend and doesn't want to get in the way!_

From thin air, Finland appeared at my side and piped up, "Is this a drinking contest?"

"You bet it is!" I laughed. "Wanna join?"

I abandoned my seat and made Finland sit there. He was happy to oblige, and Russia was far more interested in Finland to accuse me of bailing out. Ukraine and Belarus perked up as well, eyeing up the two and excited for the upcoming challenge.

"It will be vodka," Russia chuckled. "You can handle it, yes?"

Sensing the taunt, Finland cried, "Are you kidding me? You will not stand a chance against me!"

And so it began. Groups of nations rushed over and Denmark cut in to cheer on Finland, just as Sweden, Norway, and Iceland looked over and supported him. I backed off now to stand with Britain, who tapped my back in relief that I had gotten myself out of that situation. We hung around until the groups which were divided between Russia and Finland expanded, pushing us further back. The competition was becoming so intense that Belarus and Ukraine gave up on drinking competitively, so consumed they were by what the other two did.

"Destroy him!" Belarus growled in loud encouragement.

The entire bottle of vodka had been given to them to serve themselves. No matter how expensive it was becoming, neither would yield.

"Hey, are you forgetting something?" Spain called to me, approaching with France and waving my forgotten beer in my face. And they did not leave me alone until I had finished it. Britain stumbled back as France laughed and Spain danced around me, both waving for me to come back to the dance floor and enthrall the crowd again.

I moved with limits again, shouting to the ceiling and raising my hands to it. I spun until even more than before, the colours blurred themselves. I swayed more and hopped about, but the whoops that echoed through my ears and in my mind drove me on. France crammed a bottle into my hand and I swung it reflexively down my throat. Hands felt at me, touching the bottle and trying to lower it. A chuckle escaped me, but then the colours formed shapes for a moment so that I could see Britain there.

"Ahaha, what- you want some too?"

He tried to yell as quietly as he could, "You shouldn't have so much-"

I watched the pink lips moving, then pressed the glass to them. Britain spluttered when beer splashed into his mouth, backing off offended and wiping his mouth, then returning to snatch the bottle away from me.

"Honestly!" he exclaimed. "I don't know if you're acting or just really drunk! Enough's enough!"

Britain swished the bottle and frowned at its nearly empty contents. He marched it back to the counter, his gait radiating such sass that I snorted and held my hand to my face. I tittered and stumbled forward after him, but before I could come near his back, someone grabbed my shoulder. In slow motion, my head turned until my eyes could focus in on Poland.

"America, you're going to have to help Russia out!"

Lithuania crashed into Poland. "Help Russia? No, it's Finland you'll have to help!"

They sounded so bubbly. I smiled and tilted, making out pinkness across their cheeks. I pattered after them as they took me to Russia and Finland, forcing me beside Russia where Ukraine had been earlier. I flopped over the table then straightened up as Russia dropped an empty glass beside me.

"We will finish bottle!" Russia cried. "Come America, you will drink!"

I watched water pour out into the glass in front of me. Laughing at the offer, I shot it down my throat only to feel stinging fire.

"Shit, that _burns_!"

Russia giggled and poured more for the three of us. Glasses blended into each other and I forgot about the motions I was taking, until Britain grabbed my shoulder, finding where I had gone.

"America," he sighed. "It's getting late. Didn't you have an early flight tomorrow?"

"Whuh? Noo, evening. Evening…"

Why were his eyes so wide? I imagined the paper of my flight confirmation and remembered that the time had been something p.m. Britain frowned and insisted, "It's in the _morning_." He tightened his jaw. " _Right_ , America?"

Russia poured more for me. I argued, "Noo, no, I'm sure that it's the evening!"

Britain looked nervous now, his broad eyebrows rising like holy caterpillars that made me laugh uncontrollably. I fell over the table and chortled until his hand seized me and pulled. I clung with all my might to the table with one arm while reaching desperately for the last shot. The entire group of nations, on both Russia's side and Finland's, burst out laughing. Some, so uproariously, that Britain began to blush.

"Come on already!" He grit his teeth, but the laughter around me infected me too and now I was giggling horribly at him.

Denmark had been bent over the counter, but now he stood up with tears in his eyes. He hollered, "'Ey, America! You better listen to your mother!"

Everyone howled and as I quaked with laughter, I finally lost my grip. Britain yanked me away and I followed, catching a blurred glimpse of his deeply reddened face.

Spain called out from somewhere behind us, "Ameerricaaa, we're you going?"

I stopped but Britain dragged me, snapping, "Don't you even think about it!"

He forced me out the doors and into his car. I dropped down beside him and felt wind all around me, until something struck my head. I lifted myself from the dashboard as car doors slammed around me, then looked blankly at Britain as he sat beside me and started the car.

"Put on your seatbelt," he commanded me.

I pawed for it and dragged it down, missing, missing- then a click of success. For no particular reason, I snickered as we began to pull away.

"Canada, get a hold of yourself already. You're done now."

"Mmmm."

He sighed heavily and took us back to our hotel room. Britain unlocked the door and I stumbled in, but he grabbed me before I could flop my sweaty body onto the bed.

"Give yourself a shower," he advised me. "You reek like the club."

I hazily looked around. "Where… where are my things?"

"I have them. You didn't see me holding your bag?" He lifted it up now into my sight, appearing from nothing and amazing me.

"Whoa man-"

"Enough of that America voice now. You're with me."

Britain found some clothes for me from my suitcase and left them in the bathroom. I was directed into the shower and had the door closed quickly behind me. Soon here, basic knowledge of the shower returned to me, and I managed the soap and shampoo bottle despite dropping them both constantly.

When I came out dressed, Britain told me to take out the contacts I had forgotten that I was still wearing. He watched me as I got rid of them, but before I could go the bed, he led me back to the sink.

"Canada, at least brush your teeth! Bloody hell, you shouldn't have let yourself get so dysfunctional!"

He didn't sound angry, only stern. I chuckled and fumbled for the toothbrush and toothpaste, giggling, "Alright, _mom_."

"Don't call me that- I'm not your mother!"

I laughed, and now with the froth of the toothpaste swirling in my mouth, I choked. Britain sighed and tapped his arms, but watched me in the mirror until I was clean. Only once I was in bed, did he leave me to take care of his hygiene. Then, he came back as a smear as I was on the verge of falling asleep.

"Canada," he murmured as he fell onto the bed. "I want to be honest with you-"

From America's phone came a loud bling of a text. Britain glanced back in irritation then continued.

"Your acting is spot-on, but-"

Another bling came, followed by another. He shot up and strode to the bag, fishing out the phone and silencing it aggressively.

"Canada, I am disturbed by just how good you were tonight." He sat back down beside me. "You didn't have to be so good, as you already act less like America in other circumstances."

Into the pillow, I mumbled, "Wanted to make friends..."

"They might not remember what you did."

"I think they will…"

Britain looked down. I closed my eyes and clenched against the cold, and immediately Britain straightened the wrinkled blanket and tucked it around me.

Comfy and calm now, I murmured drowsily, "I tried to make them like Russia..."

"I know you did," he whispered, patting my shoulder. "But I don't think what happened tonight will make a difference… Canada."

Upon the repetition of my name, I felt calmer still. In my quiet and gentle voice, I asked him, "Mmm, did it make a difference for you?"

I don't know how long he hesitated because my perception of real time was warped.

"I… don't know," Britain replied softly. "Maybe."

"Russia's… nice…" I breathed.

"Perhaps…"

"Say yes already…"

"I can't. I do not know him well enough."

I grumbled weakly, but he pet me in consideration.

"But," he argued. " _You_ are nice for sharing your kindness with him. You've done a great job."

" _Mais il est gentil_ … _mon ami_ …"

"Yes, as you've said."

" _Moy druk_ ," I smiled in the basic Russian that I knew. " _Rossiya moy khoroshiy druk_."

Ignoring my rambling, Britain exhaled, "It's time to sleep now, Canada."

I turned into the warm hand he had left on my face, growing too tired to hear anymore. He might have said something else, but I only felt the weight on the bed disappear when his hand did. Another human hand that I did not want to be without. I weakly peeked after him, longing for his return, but then my eyes fell shut without my control.

The lights went out and sheets ruffled, then it was quiet. The echoes of the club faded away until all I could think about was Britain far from me in the other bed. But my loneliness could not last, for when all of the music had faded from my mind, and when peace reigned supreme, my day was concluded with sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**University is the reason for the late post. Now though, I am done and chapters should be coming out more quickly.**

* * *

 _I was supposed to be there for him._

With that final thought, I violently erupted from my dream. When my eyes widened to take in the shapes and obscured colours of my surroundings, I was confronted by familiar things. The walls, door, dresser, and blankets were my own, and so was the silence of the home. Without needing to check beside me, I touched then began petting Kumajiro.

Russia was long gone, and now Britain was too. Kumajiro blinked himself into semi-consciousness as I dragged myself closer to him then hugged him. My thoughts were racked with distress and lacked hope, and while Kumajiro remained calm and warm, I needed more. Eventually, I slipped away from him and restarted my music playlist.

I lay down on the other side of the bed to curl up around Kumajiro's back. By then, classical Russian music had already begun to gently caress our ears. It usually became much easier to cease having negative thoughts and emotions when I was reminded of times gone by. When I remembered how others had comforted me, I concentrated on the words and touches. Like this, I had been able to pass each night alone while waiting for Britain to visit me.

I slept, knowing that this day my loneliness would come to a pause. The morning was passed by tapping away at the keyboard, and at the knock in the afternoon, I rushed too quickly to the door. I threw it open and exposed Britain on the steps with his suitcase.

"I'm sorry for the dela-"

I grabbed him, pulling him into the house and to my chest. All formalities were abandoned as we let out small sighs in tandem. Britain rubbed and patted my back, murmuring, "Are you okay, Canada?"

"Mm…"

It wasn't so bad anymore. I relaxed and clung for just a bit longer, only until Britain's anxiety to see America's state became too great.

"I need to see what he looks like now," he said. "I know it will be bad, but…"

I knew I couldn't stop him. Leaving his suitcase by the front door, we walked to the basement. However, once there and unlocking the infamous door, Britain mumbled to me, "You... don't have to come if you don't want to, Canada."

I reached out and held his arm, staying close to him and receiving no protest. I had felt obligated to do this after hearing the pain in his demeanor; his voice had become weak and his face creased with lines of worry. Together, we proceeded down the stairs like the last time, nearly two months ago. Only on this occasion, there was no silence. Upon the second step, chains rattled sharply and loudly, a vociferous clang that startled Britain into leaping back into me.

It took a little nudging on my part to encourage him to continue, making me aware of how accustomed I had grown to the vicious snaps of the metal. The noise had ceased scaring me since the time that America had escaped his binds.

 _Because_ , I thought while carefully regarding Britain, _as long as I hear that sound, I know he's still in those chains_.

From the floor, the empty-eyed, black skeleton stretched out toward us. The metal pulled taut and held, then it was nearly quiet as America stayed locked in his position. When no movements were made, it truly looked like a frozen body. America's jaw shifted however, reminding us that the corpse would never be still.

I felt the slight trembling of Britain through the grip I had on him. I held him closer as gurgles began to emanate from the torn and molded throat, rumbling over the stained cloth jammed into the mouth. Turning away, Britain curled his hands over my chest and hid the creature from his sight.

"America…" he breathed. "Oh, America…"

I had seen America more than once every day, and now had to realize how difficult it was for Britain to face him for the first time. The image of America he had held in his mind all this time was how he had last seen him: whole albeit pale, and appearing almost exactly as he had in life.

 _It doesn't matter what Britain has seen before. It was long ago, and he has forgotten what it's like. Now… it's just hard to look. I can't blame him. I'll never be able to look long either._

The volume began to increase as we still stood near and out of America's reach. Britain's body cringed in agony at the sounds. He looked back to America, whispered his name vainly again, then backed away. Britain hurried up the stairs and I caught up to him on the upper level.

Britain did not want to talk about him. After locking the door, we returned to his luggage. I watched him remove a container filled with maroon liquid from it, then I followed him to America's kitchen.

There, he finally said something.

"I had to get special permission to take these here," Britain explained, although slightly absentmindedly. "But here we are. Not long now until I have everything."

"Not long?" I whispered.

He put the container on the counter then took out the larger, crimson-filled container from the fridge. Seeming not to have heard my question, he merely poured the maroon into the red, finding a wooden spoon to mix it all together.

"Britain," I said a little more loudly and clearly. "How much longer until you have everything?"

"Well, perhaps one more month. I hope. See, it's getting harder to get time off because I have been taking so many _vacations_ already. Otherwise, there's hardly anything left now for the potion. Just some more things for the organs."

 _One month_ … After hearing that, I wasn't sure how to feel. Dread, relief- I had survived two months like this already, but I wondered if I could make it for one more month. It would just about be December by then.

"You said… America would get stronger," I murmured.

Britain had put the potion into the fridge and had rinsed out the small container. Now, he answered, "Yes… but that is why you're keeping an eye on him. His appearance though, should remain as it is now."

We wandered back to my side, collecting his bag and opening the door. Despite the tightening of my gut, I asked, "And if the chains break? What should I do?"

Britain shivered quickly, trying to keep himself still.

"Well…"

And it took him a while to respond. Not that he hadn't thought of an answer before, but it seemed that he had just never wanted to say it to me. He deposited his suitcase in my room, sat on the bed, then sighed.

"If nothing can hold him, then… you have to make sure he can't move."

I thought of a sort of box to put him in, then could only imagine America crammed into a freezer. Doubting that he meant that, I pressed, "Er, um- what do you _mean_?"

"Yes, um… You'll have to impair his movements. Sever his tendons perhaps, and leave him in the locked basement. That is the best option I can think of that does the least amount of harm."

Immediately, I choked and held my stomach. "You want me to do _that_? Oh no, I… I don't think I can do something like that…"

"It'll be okay," Britain murmured. "You've already stitched him, and touched-"

"I _know_ but… I felt like I was helping him then."

"America won't feel anything, Canada."

I scrunched up, but could not argue against him. _I shouldn't feel this way after everything I've seen but… I don't want to cut him. Taking a knife and sawing through tendons… It's like slicing meat…_

It did not bode well for me to compare America's foul flesh to a meal. I pictured it on a cutting board and promptly shut my eyes. The mental flashes always came too fast for me to prevent.

He dropped it so that I could recover. I finally sat down beside him, gave up on that, and lay back over the bed. Britain exhaled, remaining fixated on something ahead. I closed my eyes as he stayed still, waiting for another repetitive phrase of assurance.

"It's almost over," Britain said in the end.

 _Yes._

The words went well with the comforting touch to my hair. Over time, he had become better with the touches, not so awkward and hesitant. He was sure now in our suffering that his actions now went without restraint. Britain kept my eyes closed with brushes that swept back my hair. Over and over, grazing gently and slowly.

I felt the depth of the rings around my eyes, then drifted into sleep. This however, I only realized after I had woken up from my nap. Britain was still seated beside me with his back against the pillows and computer on his lap. When he saw me raising my head and peering at him, he reached out and pet me again.

"Sleep more," he whispered. "I know how much you need it, Canada."

My lifting body collapsed easily back into the bed. After a taste of rest, my eyes blinked constantly in an effort to hold themselves open. After hearing his advice, all resistance was abandoned. The eyelids closed together, but I mumbled, "Can you do something, if I have nightmares…?"

"Of course."

"Touch me on the shoulder, and shake me a little. Not to wake me up, but to…"

"Alright."

Almost directly after, I lost all energy. I slept again, dreaming of nothing horrible when Britain's presence lingered in my consciousness. Once I woke up refreshed, I felt more capable of working. I laboured until I was given leave by Britain, who insisted upon a walk.

"Before it gets dark," he said, "let's get some exercise and air."

After sitting for hours, it felt nice to stretch my legs and restore proper blood flow. I let Kumajiro play in the yard while we went out on our own, trusting him to stay out of trouble. He had been much more obedient lately however, so I expected no problems.

When I watched Britain putting on a thin jacket, my eyes widened.

"You didn't bring anything warmer?" I gasped.

"Oh… I forgot about the weather here," he admitted. "I was too focused on…"

"It's no good, especially when you're not used to it."

I found him one of my spare autumn coats, passing it into his hands. He exchanged coats, although mine was a bit too large for him. It looked better when zipped up, but there was still an air of innocence about him in looking so small. We exited out the door, and the house was locked up behind me before we headed off on a route of a long distance.

"Just tell me if you get too cold," I told him. "We'll go inside somewhere and warm up for a bit…"

In my mind, I planned for that instance to take place in the nearest Tim Hortons. On the Canadian side, there was more for me to take pleasure in, and if not the food, then to have my contacts out and hair down. I appreciated every break away from being America.

Eventually, I became uncomfortable with the silence between me and Britain. A cluster of questions arose in my mind, and I ended up asking, "So, Britain... how long did it take you last time to find a cure? I mean, because of the lack of modern transportation…"

"Ah…" Britain murmured. "Well, things were also a little easier to find, before cities. Now though, there are fewer plants around…"

"But how long did it take? When I first called you… didn't you say it took a few months last time?"

"Wh-what are you implying?"

"Er… nothing, Britain…" I paused for a few seconds, then continued quietly. "Just that… It doesn't make sense really, because transportation took so long back then…"

Britain countered, "It was manageable. I just happened to have some things around…"

"But, er- wasn't it your first time making the cure? How could you know so fast what you needed-" I halted when I caught Britain fixing me with an acute stare. Nervous, I murmured, "Just because… you mentioned that you had to do tests…"

"Do you think I am lying to you?"

"N-no… I'm just trying to understand…"

Britain's lips drew out into a line and he went quiet. I frowned, disappointed that the mood had changed this way. It had not been my intention, and so I felt a weight of guilt inside.

"I'm sorry…"

Britain replied, his voice relaxing for my sake. "Canada… You ask so many questions that I do not want to answer…"

"I know…"

We walked on for another block. I did not want to look at Britain too much, but I flashed my eyes down to his blonde hair every few seconds. I knew that the next to speak would be him. I was merely waiting for Britain's next words.

"You are too smart, Canada," Britain sighed. "You know when you are close to that secret. The place, the identity, the time, the motives… I've made too many slips, and you have caught every one of them."

"So then…"

"Please, Canada, no more questions." Britain locked his gaze on me. "In a time like this, my wit is not as sharp as it should be. This stress is giving you too much opportunity, so please, don't make me reveal anything I do not want to. I would like you to respect my wish."

Thrown into shock, I bowed my head and looked away. I could not possibly argue with what he had just said. I did not want to take advantage of his pain, and to hear him admit his stress was too much to handle.

"Al-alright…"

We came to a stop at the hand signal of a crosswalk. There, Britain hesitantly brushed my arm. His gesture demonstrated relief and sorrow, but it was the mournful feeling that I focused on. Britain crossed his arms and tucked his hands into his armpits, moving slowly and pulling at the fibres of my heart.

"Britain…" I nudged him. "Let's go inside."

He was getting cold, but was forgetting to admit it. I led him into the closest Tim Hortons and bought him some hot chocolate. Sitting down across from each other felt too distant, and perhaps too similar to an interviewing position. I moved and sat beside Britain instead.

"You are so kind," he mumbled. "Ah… I should have paid more attention to you, honestly… Even though you are so quiet, you are truly something special. You aren't America, and I can see it now. And you are no lesser America either."

"Thank you…"

"An individual, even if you are a fine actor."

I wondered why Britain was saying such kind things to me now. The lines on his face once again revealed his distress, and so I hushed him. Britain refused, however.

"I always focused more on America because he was so loud and rebellious… You never seemed like a problem because you were always so quiet and peaceful. Sometimes, you caught my concern, but I was so distracted by France… I should have cared about you more, or showed it better."

"I knew you cared about me," I said, trying to ease him. Somehow, it did not change his mood.

Britain exhaled, "Now, you know that I don't like to cry in front of others, since I'd prefer to be a gentleman. And you saw me cry over America recently, but I promise that I have cried about you as well. I want you to know that, because I just realized that you might not know that."

"You did?" I perked up, but was more nervous than glad. "Wh-when?"

 _What had I done to make him sad like that?_

"Well, I can't give you many specific details because it was long ago…"

 _But_ , I thought, but kept the question to myself, _you can remember other things from even further ago than that. Did you not care enough to remember the occasion?_

I gasped when he hugged me. The steam of Britain's hot chocolate floated upwards, abandoned on the table as he locked onto his own wrists. I embraced him back, uncaring of how the other customers would interpret this. Britain was off again, and I had to give me my comfort.

"Britain… It's okay."

I felt sure that it was, since he had told me this countless times before. It felt nice, but also horrible, when he held me tighter for a few moments. I was nonetheless thankful that I had chosen to sit beside him.

He let go and finished his hot chocolate quickly. After, we returned home and I took Kumajiro back inside. We stayed on my side and watched movies, deciding to stay there for the night. We had even ended up ordering Chinese food, instead of cooking anything proper.

When I came around to checking America's accounts, I was alerted of a sudden meeting tomorrow afternoon. It was close by, but a bother. I did not want to leave Britain alone with America. So when I told him about the meeting, it was agreed that he would follow me inside and wait by the entrance until I was done.

In the end, he commented, "A meeting of America's… I've just imagined how that would be like. Good luck with that."

Although we both understood that I was far too practiced to need any sort of luck at all.

* * *

It was rather bland once more, but I managed the meeting without any issues. I padded back to the front and met up with Britain, who had been playing Candy Crush on his phone upon my arrival.

"Did anyone bother you?" I asked.

"No," Britain shook his head. "None of the few people who came by recognized me."

We bought some lunch and ate it out, then I drove us back to America's side. Upon entrance, I sniffed the air and listened carefully. I could not detect the death smell anyone, and all was quiet. It was as though the horror from months ago had never transpired.

We walked straight on through to my side. There, I went to the bathroom and widened my eyes, reaching to remove the coloured contacts. It was exactly at this moment that a cheery knocking came upon my front door, and a faint cry was heard from the outside.

" _Caaanaadaaaa_."

And now my eyes widened for another reason. Footsteps thundered up the hall until Britain swung around the door frame of the bathroom.

"France," we both said.

"Who should I be?" I whispered urgently.

"Well, as Canada you will have to explain that haircut. As America, you have to explain where Canada is."

I was torn. In the end, I left my disguise on and hurried to the front door. The cooing calls of France continued until I answered it abruptly. The door was yanked open and I answered in America's voice.

"Oh, hey."

Complete surprise washed over France's face.

"Wh-what? America? What are you doing here?"

"Sorry but uh, Canada's not actually home right now. I heard you yelling and thought I'd answer."

"Not home?" he echoed. "Where is he?"

"Didn't you contact him before coming?"

I knew that he had not, so I could quickly formulate an excuse.

"No…" he replied. "I had wanted to surprise him."

"Well, Canada went on a little trip up north."

"R-really…" His composure weakened. "So I came all this way, but…"

"Hey, don't be so bummed out! You can hang with me. Britain's here!"

France looked up. "Britain?"

"Yeah, come on!"

France followed me with his luggage to America's side after I locked the front door. While walking there, I glanced back as Kumajiro yawned from the couch and fell back asleep, then as Britain peeked out from the hallway. After I had led France in and told him to go to the couch, Britain snuck in when his back was turned. He moved across the room as France sat and I closed the door.

"Oh, hello," Britain greeted him as though genuinely surprised of his arrival. "What has brought you here today?"

France sat up. "Well, I came to talk with Canada. You remember how he didn't show up to that meeting…"

"Oh yes. Rest assured, he _is_ fine. I happened to call him just before he left on his trip."

"But are you sure? Maybe he seemed fine, but he wasn't-"

Britain countered, "You think I wouldn't be able to tell something like that? What happened was simply a joke between the two." He pointed at me. "So he's in trouble too."

"Ah," France sighed. "I really did want to see Canada though. I don't think anyone's visited him for a while…"

"Nope," I agreed with a false, but well formed, smile. "It's been a looong time."

I started to laugh as inconsiderately as America would. It hurt to do in knowledge of the truth of his statement, but it convinced him. He frowned as he sat down onto the couch. Britain sighed and paced over to the opposite end, and looked on the verge of adding another detail.

He never received the opportunity. Britain had only inhaled half a breath before an echoing clang and violent rattle snapped the house.

The blood drained from my face. With a shaky exhale, I looked to Britain and beheld a face as equally pale as mine.

He uttered, "Get the gun."

"What?" France jolted. "What was that?"

He gazed at me with fright as I quickly backed up to the door. I tripped and slapped at the door handle, with my eyes fixed upon Britain and France until the last possible second. Then, I tore down the hall into my room, ripping the drawer of the nightstand off accidentally and dropping it onto the floor. I snatched at the handgun sitting on top of everything, bold and sharp against the mundane mess of papers.

I readied the weapon as I jogged back. Kumajiro hopped out of my way by the door, alerted by the sight of the gun in my hand. Wisely, he would stay out of my way. I shoved myself back to America's side, where France and Britain stood tautly together, side-by-side and still unharmed.

"Okay," I gasped. "Got it."

I sent my adrenaline-filled body toward them, shaking and sweating. I stood between them as Britain murmured, "He hasn't figured out the stairs yet."

I glanced at France, who looked just as terrified as we did. I asked Britain, "What did you tell him?"

"Enough."

"S-so fast? But I was only gone for a few sec-"

"Not now!" Britain snapped. "Focus, or give me the gun!"

I flinched from the aggression. I did not know what had gotten into him, but I went quiet.

Britain crept to the side. We stepped after him as he went into the kitchen and gathered a knife for himself and France. The knife was taken hesitantly by France, who looked like he wanted to flee outside instead. I was mistaken, for he turned to Britain and expressed concern for him, crying out, "Are _you_ planning on fighting?"

"No, just- just help me immobilize him after he's been shot!"

We scrambled to the basement door. Britain reached to open it, but France tossed him out of the way and protested, "Stay out of the way! What will we do if something happens to you?"

Britain fell to his side while France grabbed hold of the door. For a second we listened, and heard a faint shuffling somewhere below. France slowly turned the lock. I swallowed and held the gun steady at the doorway.

France threw it open. The black mouth of the basement widened for us, and cool air crept out from the depths. There was a scraping noise again and my muscles tightened. I reached for the light switch, bu then, a dark circle moved among the blackness, bobbing and unattached to any binds. I pointed toward it, but it stopped moving and I lost sight of the form.

"I saw him," I whispered. "But…"

"He stopped," Britain nodded. He and France had moved to my sides to peer down with me. Knives pointed out in both directions.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

 _He doesn't know?_ Sweat dripped down my temple. It was getting harder to keep my gun steady on the wall of black below. I extended my arm again to the light switch, but hesitated, wondering if I really wanted to see what I was meant to do.

I shot into the basement. The gunshot echoed throughout the house and made all of us jump, but the sound of splintering wood revealed the destiny of the bullet. I heard a sound and saw a shape again. Automatically I fired towards it, another shot into the dark.

A wavering screech hurdled over the resounding gunshot. I dropped the gun and covered my mouth. Turning to Britain, I cried, "H-he felt that! He sc-screeched because-"

A series of claps grew louder, footsteps pounding on the stairs. I dove back down to the ground to grab the gun again just as the skeleton as black as the room pelted upwards. I snatched the weapon and rolled away, just in time to see the creature's face break past the door frame.

Half of his jaw had been blown off, the cloth, teeth, part of his tongue, and his cheek ripped away from the bullet. A mess of yellowed bone and discoloured blood and flesh jutted out, and yet the jaw still moved up and down. Legs thin and brittle like pencils stretched out, bringing skeletal feet down onto the hardwood.

For the first time in months, they no longer touched stone.

America produced gasping sounds, still moving his damaged face. He set his orbits upon Britain and France, who were backing away, and then he turned his face to me. The body stood without action, looking back to them, then me, then back again to them.

"What are you doing?" Britain cried. "Shoot him!"

The gun was aimed on his dark and miscoloured shirt, ragged and loose on his emaciated frame. The corpse swayed and groaned, the head tilting and the jaw shifting left, right, left, right...

The third bullet blasted into his lower chest. Blood and bone exploded into the hall and America collapsed. Pieces of old and severely rotted organs flew into the air, and through the destroyed shirt, I saw the remains of bottom of his lungs. They quivered and an instant later, the skeleton flailed and screamed an inhumane, high-pitched cry.

I faltered with tears pouring down my face.

This felt wrong.

Britain dashed down and grabbed a forearm. He yanked America's arm out straight, then stabbed into the muscles of his elbow joint. They were quickly severed, but not without the writhing and wails of the skeleton. It lashed out at Britain with its other arm, but he hopped back before he could be touched.

"Br-Britain…" I whimpered.

America rose to his knees, beginning to stand now. The lungs expanded and collapsed as he gasped and growled.

The eyes of France and Britain flew open in surprise at America's quick recovery. They backed towards the wall.

Britain shouted, "One more time!"

"No, wait!" I cried. "I-"

America's jaw opened again and he began to sway again.

"Canada!" Britain screamed. "Shoot him, _now_!"

I eyed up the horrible mess that I had inflicted upon him. The agonized screeches still echoed in my mind. I shook and cried, racked with the guilt of the pain I had given him. Britain had not told me the truth, intentionally or not. America felt everything that we had done to him.

"But-"

France pointed his knife at America. "Canada!" he hollered at me. "Shoot him!"

 _F-France?_

He had seemed so certain. To hear this self-assured command however, frightened me all the more. In a sudden realization, I questioned everything that Britain had told me. So many secrets he had been keeping, and so many things he had corrected himself on, pretended not to know, and had lied about.

From this, I hesitated. I was no longer sure what to trust. Then, however, America stopped switching his focus. He stared at France, and did not look away. Finally, America moved. The strike was so fast that my eyes had barely detected it, but then I heard Britain screaming out in horror.

France was silent in shock when America's exploded middle became impaled on his steak knife. In his face, America caterwauled and twitched spasmodically. I saw the point of the metal pointing out from America's back, through his threadbare shirt.

 _France stabbed America, France just stabbed-_

Then, however, America was quiet and ignored the knife. He pushed himself deeper into the blade, grabbed hold of France's arms, then snapped his serrated mouth at his throat.

Britain had already moved. Shoving his arm out in front of France's neck, he slammed into America. Teeth and broken bone snapped into his forearm, and Britain screamed horribly as America stumbled for balance.

The teeth had only been there for a second. I fired once into his side, through the ribs, and America's mouth flew open as he fell back screaming. He hit the floor, but rolled and grabbed Britain by the ankle. I shot again. The grip lost its strength, and the hand dropped.

Britain gasped rapidly and cradled his arm. Dark blood began to seep out of the wound, but he pressed it against his shirt and held it there tightly. His knife fell from his hand while he stepped back, scrunching up his face and shaking. France hurried to grab the knife, then he yanked out his own from America's body. Swiftly, despite the weak moans, he sawed at each joint with the two knives. My eyes drifted from Britain to France, the tears raining as I helplessly stared and tried to comprehend the reality of what had happened.

 _How had France known what to do?_

Then, America was splayed out and immobile. All joints had been disconnected, even his jaw muscles had been sliced. Now, his mouth hung open, appearing unhinged like a snake's. I mewled at the sight of the remnants of a decayed tongue hanging out, and the scarlet of Britain's blood that covered it and his teeth.

My stomach churned and my vision went black. I lost my balance and fell into the floor, face and side smacking against it painfully. The gun rolled from my hand, and suddenly I became unable to move. Freezing sweat beaded over my body while I tried to breathe and get up.

I heard dragging across the floor. France's footsteps went down the stairs of the basement as he took away America's body. I heard the door closing and being locked, then my eyes weakly opened. Standing, he looked at Britain, then rushed to me. He shook me and tried to comfort me with caresses, but at the touch of his rot-greased hands, I sobbed and slapped them away.

"Canada…"

I made it to my knees, but then fell again. I cried feebly and pushed France away every time he tried to touch me. He too, had known something that I had not. Furthermore, Britain had never once mentioned to me that France had any knowledge of this deathless condition.

I dragged myself away to my side. Kumajiro had been pressed against the door, but stumbled back when I entered. I tried to push the door close, but I was too weak to do it. It swung back open as I wobbled my way into the bathroom, where I locked the door and dropped all clothes.

I stepped into the shower and threw it on. I sat and tossed out my legs, crying as the water poured over me. America's tissue and blood ran off me after I endured a period of cold and then finally, warm water. I vigorously washed my hands and head, then I sobbed into my palms.

Somewhere far off, I heard Britain and France arguing loudly. They were heard very faintly from America's side, through the door that I had left open. I stopped crying, wanting to know what was being said. I washed the rest of me then dried off quickly. I dashed into my room and jammed on pants and a long-sleeved shirt, then slid back toward my living room.

"You're bleeding everywhere! Obviously, you're going to need stitches!"

Britain snapped, "Enough already! I don't want anyone becoming suspicious!"

"You will heal faster if you go!"

"I heal fast regardless! It will be healed up in no time!"

France exclaimed, "You are losing too much blood right _now_!"

I appeared in the doorway. Britain was curled against the wall with a puddle of blood under him. Still, he held his arm against his shirt, but now the cloth was utterly soaked and useless. I watched scarlet drops continuously falling into the puddle already on the floor.

France, who had been looming over him, snapped away and turned toward me. His eyes widened to see me there, but he came near me anyway. He took his phone forcefully from his bag and I backed away as he crossed onto my side. I saw him pound in the number for 911, then he paced away with the phone pressed against his head.

Britain was too weak to protest. He quaked by himself in the scene of carnage, where streaks of black and pieces of bone and meat still were splattered over the floor and walls. In comparison to America's darkness, his blood was as bright as a blooming flower.

Behind me, France was calling for an ambulance. He told them that his friend had been bitten by a large dog, and that he was bleeding awfully. France pointed at me when I looked at him, then to Britain. One more time, he pointed outside then swept out his arm.

 _Take Britain outside and to your yard._

I did not want to re-enter the scene, but I grabbed our shoes and went to Britain. He shuffled beside me and followed me out the door, then once we had walked shoeless to the front of my house, he sat on the steps. I put on his shoes for him and tried not to look at his blood falling over the stone.

By the time the ambulance had come, a considerable amount of blood was all around him. Britain looked so wobbly and pale, looking forward blindly until skilled hands arrived to him. France was nowhere to be seen, but I assumed that he did not want to appear with the unexplainable blood and stains that were upon him as well.

"Do not worry," Britain murmured before he would be taken away. "He… he will take care of you."

After his departure and all the information had been given to me by the paramedics, I returned to America's side. There, France was already scrubbing with a bucket of soapy water and regular towels. When he noticed me gazing at him with a haunted and tear-streaked face, he waved me away.

"Go home," he told me gently. "Do not look at this anymore."

"F-France…"

"Go home," he repeated, in French now. "You have done enough."

I walked back. I closed the door, but smeared my hand with the decay that I had placed on the door handle. All the handles, I realized now, had been contaminated. I crawled off to wash my hands and feet, avoiding all the stains for now.

I lay on my bed and pushed my face into a pillow. Kumajiro quickly jumped onto the bed, frantically prodding me with his nose for a reaction. I lifted my arm and let him come in, but he pushed hard and flipped me onto my back. The fluffy body fell over me, heavy but protective. Going limp, I hugged him tenderly and cried more.

A while later, I heard France getting into the shower. Later still, he came out and found me. His perfume was smelled before he lay his hand on my forehead.

"Canada," he murmured. "Oh… poor Canada…"

My eyes tightened.

"You knew about this," I stated.

"No, I just found out-"

"I mean about the condition," I muttered. "You were there, weren't you?"

France went unexpectedly quiet.

"And Britain does not want you to say anything," I continued. "Doesn't he?"

France sighed, "Not just him… We agreed not to say anything, Canada."

I wiped at my tears and finally looked to him. He was bent over me, his expression absolutely sorrowful.

"What do you mean?" I whispered. "Why? Who was there? Who was the one who burned…?"

"Oh…" France whispered. "So he told you even that. What do you know, Canada?"

I froze, not sure if giving him the information would make it harder to squeeze any extra information out of him. He stared at me, unbreaking, as he waited to hear my answer.

"A long time ago, a friend of Britain died in a fire."

I felt the dampness remaining in my gaze.

"He was going to be buried, but then he moved again. So, Britain looked for an undetermined amount of time for a cure, gathering plants to heal him."

France was nodding, but I was not sure if that confirmed my words, or showed appreciation for some clever lies.

"One night," I went on. "Britain was attacked, so he tied his friend up in ropes. He failed and tested different things, until he finally had a complete potion. The person was healed, but to protect him and other nations, they promised to never talk about it again."

"Oh…" he repeated. "Oh, Canada…"

"What?"

"Britain did not make that promise to him. He promised _me_ that we would never talk about it…" France's eyebrows lifted in extensive mourning. "That friend… does not know what happened to him."

My mouth hung open. Never had I imagined the possibility of Britain's promise being made to some other person than the victim himself.

France said, "We… we did not want him to ever know, so that he would not try to remember it. It might be too painful for him if he did. We swore that no one, no other person, was to be told about it. I… I know that you are frustrated, because of how you are talking to me… But. No matter how much I trust you, the secret must stay between me and Britain. The truth must not spread."

I whispered, "So only you two know?"

"Only us. I… I was there, and I guess Britain did not want to tell you, because then you would ask me questions… Then he did not tell me about America in order to save me the grieve." He shook his head. "But I cannot tell you more. He promised me, and I promised him. Please, to protect this person from pain, leave us alone."

"But- why were you there?" I asked desperately. "When- where?"

"No, Canada…" he moaned. "No… I cannot tell you anything."

I clung to Kumajiro. "Did you stay with Britain, when it happened?"

France wavered. "I… I was there for the whole thing."

"How long did it last?"

"No…" His jaw and lips tightened. "No, Canada… Don't ask me."

There, was the same stress that had affected Britain whenever I pushed him too far. France had started to clench himself remarkably tight, and his voice was becoming more taut. I stopped. I rolled my head in defeat and closed my eyes. Immediately, France began stroking my forehead and petting back my hair.

He kept doing this for a while, although it was hard for me to relax. Again in my mind, I saw France slicing through America's joints. I understood now that sometime before, France had done the exact same thing. They had cut the joints of someone else, those two. There had been no simple ropes.

"France," I said. "That person… The ropes were never enough."

He hesitated, then murmured, "Yes…"

Tears welled up in my eyes again. "Britain lied to me… He said that chains would be enough for America. But it wasn't enough last time, wasn't it? Britain always knew that America would escape, because it happened last time!"

"Oh…"

"That's why he gave me the gun," I whimpered. "That's why I had to check on him every day, that's why…"

France quickly wiped away my tears.

"Canada," he whispered. "Britain has to lie to you. Please forgive him… How could he tell you these awful things, just after America died? He wanted you to have hope, and feel confident. He… needed you to feel safe."

"I was never safe!"

"You were," France replied softly. "He would never let anything happen to you. Every time you listened to him, you were safe."

I cried more, understanding but not wanting to. France tried to dry my face as I choked, "H-he… he lied the entire time. I-I don't know what is true a-about America…"

France shushed me, but I could not allow it.

"France." I tried to steady my voice, but failed. "Am-America screamed. He can feel p-pain. He h-hesitated, so he was thinking."

France looked worried, and could not think of anything to say. I could see that he was trying to come up with an answer, but he was unable to lie to me like this.

"America," I said. "He _can_ think. Britain tried to tell me that he couldn't, but America knows it is us. He… he escaped one time, and he touched my arms. He felt them, and knew it was me. He didn't want to hurt me."

"He doesn't want to hurt us," France admitted. "Yes… but, he will. He can only think a little, Canada. And for the most part, he is thinking about how to heal himself. Nothing complicated… but completely dangerous."

I soaked in this information, grateful that France was at least unraveling some of Britain's lies. I dared not speak, lest I interrupt him.

"America…" he said. "He knows who he is attacking… The desperation always takes over, however… _always_ , remember. We needed you to shoot him. Like I said, if you had just listened to Britain, everything would be alright… We knew he was going to attack us no matter what. He wants our organs and skin… our functioning parts."

I said now, "Britain said that it would not work. That… the last person vainly tried to put Britain's skin on himself."

France sighed, "Ah… but it does work. I saw it and… the skin attached itself. They can heal themselves that way…"

"B-but why didn't Britain just say it?" I wailed. "Why did he have to lie about that too?"

France swept away my tears as I cried anew. "Don't cry, Canada… Don't cry…"

"Why?" I sobbed. "He could have told us. He told America too, that…"

"For you both…" he whispered. "Oh, Britain did not want you to know what happened to him. More than his arm… That person hurt him so much. If he told you what America would try to do to you… You, and America too… both of you would have been scared."

"France," I sniffed. "What happened to Britain?"

"No…" he tried. "You don't need to know."

"I need to," I mewled. "I can't take all these secrets! Just tell me something, if you won't tell me the place, time, and person!"

"No-"

"Please…" I whined.

"Canada…"

"You don't understand… It hurts so much that you are hiding everything from me! It will always drive me insane, not knowing what happened!"

"Okay…" His voice was strained after seeing the ache of my heart through my eyes. "But it is awful. I had to shoot that person that night, and although I was a little late, it saved Britain's life. If you had not shot America today… he could have really hurt someone. He could have killed one of us."

"What happened then, last time?"

"He… he tore off the forearm skin while he was sleeping. It was how it started, and when I heard Britain screaming… I had been outside, but I came in, knowing what had happened. And then, I saw him pinning Britain to the bed, tearing off the skin of his chest. He was drinking his blood... then he suddenly ripped out one of his… his…"

When he couldn't say it, France pointed at his eye.

"And put it into his own. It worked… I tried to pull him off Britain, but he was so strong. He kept swallowing his blood, and started to… to pull at his ribs. He was going to tear everything out, to put into himself… I fought so hard to stop him. If he managed to open up his chest and pull everything out… he would have been killed. So, out friend... I… I broke his neck. Just… to make him stop. Britain just... could not die. Without him… we are lost."

France looked away, his lip trembling as he swiped at his eyes.

"Then… he started to move again. I came back, and he was moving toward Britain. I shot him, so many times… until… he moved no more, for now. Britain fixed himself up, then, in desperation, we cut all his joints."

France hugged me suddenly, joining Kumajiro and whispering, "Forgive him… Britain cared too much about you to tell you the full story…"

My insides twisted into knots and I felt sick. To imagine everything he had just said made me want to puke, but instead I only coughed my way into a sob. Today, Britain had gotten so hurt again, and I could have stopped it from happening. I could have listened. I could have been obedient and had stopped asking questions. Then, I would not have had to listen to the truth.

I regretted asking for this story. Now, I cried uncontrollably despite the shushes and caresses of France. Kumajiro lifted his warm weight off me and licked my face, but seizing the opportunity, France crawled onto the bed and scooped me up into a hug. He held me tightly, and my head fell against his heart, one ear able to listen to the fast beats protected inside.

"Everything will heal," France assure me. "Britain healed himself right after the attack, and he cured that person in the end. That is no lie. He really can fix America."

He pet my hair back until I became quieter. The human touch and words of caring had such a powerful effect on me, pushing away my negative thoughts. He placed a kiss on my forehead and kept pleading for me to stop crying. Softly, and more softly he spoke, with his heart pained by my suffering. Because of that, I had to put in an effort to relax for his sake and mine.

He leaned against the headboard as I sank into him. France's hands brushed away all the tension and shivering of my muscles, and made me feel such fatigue. I hugged him back and felt warmer, now that I had stopped thinking about his stories.

Once I had finally stopped crying, France smiled.

"We are going to take care of you," he said. "And we won't be fighting over you. You are going to love it, because it will be so different and nice."

He traced one of my eyebrows with a finger.

"I will cook for you," he decided.

I looked up at him with my reddened eyes.

He added, "And we'll spend all of our time with you."

It sounded so perfect, but, I could not ignore what it was covering up. No matter what, the secret of the basement remained, so I could not let myself get too happy and forget about the fate of my brother.

"Thank you," I whispered.

France smiled more.

"Canada… You are so special and dear. Now, how about you take out those contacts? It would be better if you looked like yourself, even if you can't do anything about the beautiful hair you cut off."

I had forgotten all about those coloured eye contacts. Even with my shower, I had left them in. I smiled back at him, and enjoyed the effect that it had. His shoulders dropped and his expression became brighter. There was hope there, that we would all survive this.

He let me go to take out my contacts. I came back to the bed, but he was no longer there. I found him instead in the kitchen, taking stock of all I had in my fridge.

"You know, it makes sense now," France commented. "Why America has suddenly been so nice to everyone… quiet, respectful. Total aggression from that country has lowered… You must have done some good convincing."

"Britain and America thought I was good at acting…"

He closed the fridge, concluding his investigation.

"You really fooled everyone," France said. "The way you changed your voice… and you were wild at that party. No one would have guessed…"

I felt a little embarrassed with these compliments. I fetched him a list for the groceries, which I knew that he would want, and an accompanying pen. France began writing and I watched what he added. Some expensive items appeared, but he laughed and assured me, "I will pay for them. Don't worry about it because I even came here with a bunch of Canadian cash."

He continued writing, then stood up and folded the paper.

"Come with me to the grocery store," he said. "We need to do something fun and forget a little, right?"

"But…"

"How can you protest? We need to make sure there is enough for a special meal for Britain, when we get him back."

France ruffled my hair, but I could not help but remember a time where I had wanted America to do the same for me. Long ago on that mountain, when he had shown some kindness to me. However, since thinking about that now caused distress, I smiled at France.

"Alright."

"And while we're out," he grinned. "You have to tell me about how it has been, living as America. First though, there is one story I want from you."

"Which one?"

"How did you manage to make Russia become friends with America?" he asked. "And what is that like?"

"Oh, well…" I began. "It all started when he sent America a picture of his cake…"


	11. Chapter 11

Although Britain had lied to me, it was only a great relief to have him back home. Wrapped up in a sling, Britain's arm had been secured and stitched. The injury itself had been worse than either France and I had assumed, where the cuts had reached all the way to the bones. Bones that had also been broken by the strength of a jagged jaw.

After learning of the extent of his injury, Britain remind us, "It could have been France's neck. Better this than that."

Promptly upon his arrival, Britain sat himself down wearily on the couch. France dropped in beside him to say, "We all need to talk… I told Canada some things while you were gone."

I fidgeted in guilt, when Britain jolted and demanded, "Did you tell him-"

"Not about the person, no… Just some experiences."

Before me, the web of lies had been confirmed by Britain's reaction. I stood and stared over at them in shock as France continued,"He knows I was with you and what we really had to do to contain him. Then… I told him about what happened to you."

Britain groaned and sighed simultaneously, covering his face with his hand. "What was the worse thing that you told him?"

"That we had to slice the tendons, and exactly how you were hurt."

"W-wait." I approached them. "Is there something worse than that?"

"No," Britain replied. "That is about it."

"I-I don't believe you…"

Britain said, "I know… but please do. You can only get through this whole thing if you do."

"You've lied so much to me," I muttered. "It is… just impossible to believe you now, whenever you tell me that it is okay. It… was never okay…"

"Please, Canada," France cut in. "Be kind. We don't have any other choice."

"You could just tell me everything," I replied simply. "And end all these secrets."

"We have only done what was best for you," Britain answered me. "If I had told you any more than I had in the beginning, you would have never been able to mentally survive the task. And only you could have pretended to be America."

"But what is the point anymore?" I moaned. "You've just revealed that it will get even worse… My mind will run off now, imagining what could possibly happen. I might think of things worse than reality… You know that I've already done that, wondering if I should freeze my own brother… Not knowing is just driving me insane!"

"The entire story would drive you insane…" France murmured. "You just can't let yourself think like this… hurting yourself. Ignore the future and focus on everything you have to do now."

"I am almost done," Britain affirmed. "This time was much quicker than the last, so I doubt that we will ever have to go to the extremes that we did. Yes, fine. It got worse. But it will not happen this time because the job is getting done faster."

"But America is a lot stronger than your friend was," I countered. "He heals faster too. So… so I think those _worse_ things will happen!"

Britain's eyes flashed up and then squeezed shut. He had been caught. He had been thinking exactly the same thing.

"Then… We will take care of it so that you don't have to. If it becomes necessary."

France waved at me to sit with us, since I was still distant from them and standing in the middle of the room. I could not resist the gentleness of his beckoning, so I broke and came to them.

France moved over so that I could sit in the middle. On either side, faces dipped and watched me, wondering what I would do or say. In all honesty, I wanted to submit to self-woe and cry, but I was not sure what they were hiding from me, and if I should still feel bitter towards them. Instead, I carried a detached expression that worried them.

France touched my back. "We are here for you. Always."

"Why…" I breathed.

"Why what?" France responded.

I directed my attention upon Britain. "Why did you come, instead of just searching for the last ingredients? Why are you wasting your time here?"

"Because I can't let you be alone all the time," he murmured. "I want to help you stay sane. Then, of course, I needed to see how far America had gone."

"You don't need to stay," I muttered. "I would rather that you use your precious vacation time now to look for more plants."

"So you want me to go?"

"It is better if you do."

"And France?"

I looked at him. There was no particular reason for him to leave, even if he was also hiding things from me.

"He can stay," I replied. "So there. I won't be lonely."

France appeared conflicted. "But… Britain has just arrived here and he is injured now. He should rest with us."

"Is this an excuse? Do you just want him around because something might happen with America?"

"No, but yes," Britain replied. "I do want to stay here, to get a sense of his healing rate."

I was becoming ever the more frustrated since I wanted this whole ordeal to be over as quickly as possible. I did not want to have to wait for a cure, where Britain sat around my house doing mundane things with me. These _worse_ things that I had learned about, changed everything.

"So that is it then. You're staying," I stated, huffing with annoyed acceptance. "And it will take one more month to cure him."

He nodded.

After everything that had happened, I didn't know if I could believe him anymore. I did not want to confront them either, but this frustration was overboiling. I snapped to my feet and abandoned France's comforting touches, moving away deeper into my home.

"Where are you going?" France gasped. "Canada-"

Britain hopped up and tried to catch up to me.

"You're upset with us, mostly me… I know," he said. "But I am sorry. It hurts me to do this to you."

I could not force myself to be so stubborn. I glanced back at him, my heart breaking at the sight of him. It was so easy to forgive him when he looked so thin and hurt both physically and emotionally. There was too much of a shine in his green eyes, and I became afraid that he would cry. I had already seen that and I could not see it again.

 _No matter what, he is sad too. I can't be so harsh to him._

France was watching as I carefully hugged Britain and his injury.

"I will forgive you…" I said loud enough for both of them to hear. "But… I would like some time alone."

"Al-alright… Very well."

Britain backed away and allowed me to gather what I wanted undisturbed. I went into the bathroom and precisely gelled my hair into place. I set in eye contacts, changing the colour of my eyes from purple to blue, and then America's glasses completed the appearance. After having had collected his laptop, cord, and a pair of headphones into a backpack, I headed towards the door with purpose.

"Where are you going?" France asked.

"Just… out," I answered. "Take care of Kumaharou if he wants anything. I… I don't know how long I will be gone."

I went into America's side, which smelled strongly of cleaners. Glancing at the walls were the struggle had taken place, there was no indication that anything had ever happened here. I borrowed America's wallet and keys, but before I could depart in America's car, Britain and France came up to me.

"Why did you put on your disguise?" Britain inquired. "Really, where are you going?"

"There's… someone I want to see."

"At least put on a jacket," he said mildly, decisively not pressing me any further about my choice.

He fetched me America's favorite jacket, which was thick enough for the cold. Reminiscent of what I had done for Britain, he passed me the warm piece of clothing out of concern. I slipped it on and imaged myself in his eyes: the perfect copy of America. I retook my backpack, then waved a goodbye to them.

I wanted a quiet place, but also somewhere with Internet access. I ended up going to a library, retreating to the top floor and to a corner, where there were hardly any people. America's computer was taken out, then I plugged in some headphones before trying to log on to the Wifi. I huffed when I became blocked and in need of a library card to access it.

It had been obvious, but fixable. I gained the aid of a wanderer among the shelves, explaining that I absolutely needed the Internet and did not have a card. By fortune, had I come across a generous person, and was soon connected.

I took my seat again and was left in peace. Letting out a sigh, I wrote my first message to Russia.

 _Hey, are you busy?_

This time, he did not respond. It did not show that he was online, but I would wait for as long as necessary. My hands ran over and through my hair, before settling on my nape. I stared at the screen for a few minutes, then shook my head. There were better ways to spend my time, when there was a pile of work to be done.

I tried to focus on a responsible task instead, but was often distracted by imagining the conservation that I wanted to have with Russia. I impatiently reloaded the page again and again, but he had not even seen the message. There was another attempt to work, but I groaned and abandoned it all.

I dropped my chin onto the desk and pulled my hair, squeezing out a few tears from my eyes.

 _I just want someone…_

I dried my eyes and stayed in this collapsed position for a long time. Eventually, a bling came through the headphones and I shot up.

 _I am done now_ , Russia had written. _What is it?_

My fingers fell over the keyboard. _I really want to talk to you_

 _Why?_

 _I need someone to talk to_

Russia wrote, _Is something wrong?_

 _Call me if you can_

Promptly, there was a ringing. I answered Russia's call, straightening myself up. He appeared on screen wearing a black suit and dark undershirt, fresh from some kind of business. The darkness of his clothes lighted up his face, where his irises and hair seemed brighter and more clear. Those violet eyes swept over me, confused and worried about the haunted face of America that I as well, could see on the computer.

"Why did you want to talk to me?" he asked. "Me when… you have others?"

"Something came up and… I can't really trust others anymore."

Russia said, "Why is that? What happened?"

"Well… I just realized that I've been lied to for a long time. That I am not safe, but just made to believe that. There was some horrible things that happened too, but no one wants to tell me anything."

"This sounds normal," Russia smiled. "Are you surprised by something like this?"

"No, I mean… I can't really give you the specifics, but I don't think you've ever experienced something like… I am."

"I have lived for long time. I think that I know worse things."

I bowed my head. "No, seriously, this is something that you have never seen. Ever."

"And why can you not tell me what it is? Is it confidential thing?"

"Not… really…" I shivered. "Just something you wouldn't believe."

"Tell me," he insisted. "It does not sound like problem."

I grew anxious at his nonchalance. This was not how I had wanted him to react, and now I did not know how to gain his sympathy without revealing too much.

"It… Britain got hurt. Here, at my place..."

Some surprise crossed his face at last. Russia asked, "Hurt in what way?"

"His arm is broken and torn up. There was an insane amount of blood everywhere."

Russia fixed his tie. "This is a strange problem you are talking about. What is it?"

Although I had told him that I could not say anything, he was still pressing. _I should have expected this. Based off what I'm telling him… of course he's curious. I would be too._

If I wanted some emotional support, then it seemed that I would have to show more of my stress instead of hiding my feelings. Otherwise, his focus would not change.

I stopped clenching my muscles, now allowing my body to go limp and for quivering to become visible.

"I don't feel safe, Russia," I murmured. "But everyone needs me to do something I don't think I can do anymore. They lied about how hard it would be, and now… It's too difficult, especially when I know how much worse it will become."

"And it is the same thing that was bothering you at my home?"

"Yes, and it's worse now… I was sad then, but now… I'm afraid."

Russia hummed. "America is afraid… and I am not getting good feeling. When you are afraid of something, I feel worry."

"Well… It won't affect you… as long as you stay away."

"But something hurt Britain there?" Russia blinked quickly. "Did you make something dangerous? A weapon?"

"N-not really… not like that," I replied, hoping that Russia wasn't about to feel threatened. "Nothing to be used on people. But it's dangerous anyway."

"You tell me a riddle. What are you describing?"

"That's not the point!" I burst out, then covering my face when I realized how loud and unfiltered that had been. It was awfully American and unlike myself.

The effect caused was desirable. Russia was surprised again, peering at me and asking softly now, "America? What is the point?"

"I need help…" I whispered. "Britain and France are hiding something from me, but they are also the only ones who know what to do. I don't have anyone else… someone to talk to that has no idea about what is going on."

When my posture dropped and my eyes glistened, Russia was even more gentle-voiced.

"But you are very strong, America… What can I do, if you cannot handle it?"

"I'm… not as strong as you think. I can't do everything by myself."

Russia said, "Okay, I understand. Then, if you do not feel safe there, and if something hurts you physically and in the mind… America, do you want to come over again? Do you need break?"

The idea was so attractive. My heart yearned to agree, to say yes and be carried away from here. There were no dangers or secrets there- only fun activities, good food, and perhaps some hugs.

"But I can't," I moaned quietly. "I really do have to stay. I can't go… I can't…"

"But then, what do you want from me?" Russia asked. "Should I come to your place?"

"No!" I rubbed at the tears sneaking out from my eyes. "No…"

"But you want me to see you, _da_?"

I did not want to answer that question.

In my silence, he continued, "This is why you wanted to talk to me, I think. You are wanting to see me." He paused, tapping his fingertips together. "America… Do you miss me?"

"Y-yes… I do."

"So the nice things I did to you was good? I wanted to try being kind to you, because you were trying… I was not sure if I was making mistakes though."

"Same. I know I pissed you off plenty of times, and when at was at your place, but… you made me feel better. Better than other people could."

A small smile lifted on Russia's face. "No one tells me this. I think it means that we are really friends."

I tried to smile back at him, but it shook from the lingering storm of fear and sorrow within me.

"Russia, hey. We are friends."

Russia swayed in satisfaction. His eyes shone in the light when he lifted his chin up and looked fit to purr.

" _I am very happy_ ," he sighed in Russian, with words that I was able to understand.

"I like being your friend," I murmured to him. "We have lots of fun. When we don't have to be serious anymore… It is really nice."

Russia nodded. "It is… but the past is still difficult… do you think so too?

"Mm… It's not like I forgot but, I can't drag on about it forever."

"America?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to see you. Come over. You don't want to be there, and it hurts you to be there. There is Britain there, and France too, right? They know more about the problem, so why don't you make them take care of the problem?"

"The thing is that they _are_ , well, Britain is… and Britain has to go places."

"Can France do it?" Russia asked.

"I-I don't want to leave him alone…"

"But, America, he knows more than you, yes? He can do it."

"No, I… I have work to do anyway. I'm so busy that… I can't go even if I want to."

That had not been a lie.

Russia exhaled, "So you want to see me… but you are too busy to come no matter what. Then, I have to come see you."

"No, Russia. Not yet… Maybe in a month."

"Why in a month?"

I replied, "Because the problem should be taken care of by then, and then you can see me."

"You will be sad all that time." Russia frowned. "Afraid, and in danger. I do not like it… I want to help you, and you want it too because you called me…"

"I just wanted to talk…"

"I don't believe that. I think you wanted more, no matter what you are saying." Russia watched me, his violet eyes serious. "You want me to help you and to come over."

My heart was beating faster. I needed to reject this or else Britain would freak out on me. But Russia was pressing and pressing, looking at me with such concern. He was afraid too, of that nameless thing that I was afraid of. He needed me to be better for his own sake at least. But all of our talking about friendship was making my muscles itch. I wanted the flatness of that screen to become his warm and solid form beside me.

"C-can you… really do that?" I stammered.

"Now, everyone is encouraging me to get closer to you. They like the lowered aggression and would like us to be very good friends. If I want to go, they will let me. Right away."

"Wow…" I breathed.

"Take break, America. I will come."

"O-okay," I conceded.

"Yes? I will come over?"

"Yes… please."

Russia chirped, "Oh, this is great! We will have so much fun, America."

"Guess I'll see you soon."

"Oh yes, very soon. I will get special plane to come quicker. They will hear that you miss me."

"You're gonna tell them that?"

"No, I will let them hear for themselves."

"Er, come again?"

"Mm, I recorded this call."

I froze as a different and new fear overcame me. I stuttered, "W-what? The whole c-call?"

"Mm-hmm." He tilted his head and smiled. "They want proof that you care about me, and now I have it!"

I felt heat flooding through my body. I could not stop myself from shaking, and I whispered hoarsely, "B-but the parts where I told you about my problem, about Britain…"

Russia blinked. He smiled. "What is wrong?"

"You can't give them that! Please, don't, please… no one can know. They'll send spies, they'll look…"

Russia dropped his smile, his gaze flickering over my panic. "It is really important to not tell anyone that you have a problem? That you are afraid?"

"Yes, yes…" My eyes were watering again, and my voice was tightened by the obvious tension owned by those about to cry. "Oh god, please… No one can know. I thought you cared about me…"

"You trusted me so much?" Russia looked on in interest. "Why? Why did you want to tell _me_ something if it was so important?"

I shook and my throat hurt too much to speak. Russia's face softened again. "I like that you trusted me… even when there is risk. I show and tell them many things, but not everything. They do not know about your nightmares or that there is something troubling you. When you play nice, I will reward you. I will cut out the things you said today."

I let out a shaking breath. "Oh my god, thank you…"

"But." He looked at me with a sharp-eyed glare that froze my bones. "I still have them, if you betray me."

My relief was curtailed. I wanted all proof deleted, but the power was in his hands. That look and attitude was not comforting in the slightest, and now I felt as though this was another person I was addressing. A feeling of helplessness overcame me, bringing me fear.

"No, I-I wouldn't… We're friends, right?"

My body was stiff on the outside, but on the inside, everything was trembling. Just when I had thought that Russia could provide me the comfort that the others could not, he had touched me with cold hands. I remembered the similar threat at the meeting in Spain, where Russia had told me that he would hurt me if I was tricking him. I had forgotten about that, and now I realized that I had not been considering this friendship with Russia hard enough.

I had put both America and me in danger. America would have to keep acting like he was friends with Russia once he was back, lest he trigger those threats. If I made Russia feel betrayed now as well, there would be trouble for the entire country.

Russia's gelid expression dropped. He smiled, "Yes. We are friends, and we will always be friends. You would never betray me, yes, America?"

"Right…"

"So then, I will be packing." Russia suddenly lifted a cellphone up from under the table. "A plane has already been arranged."

Alarmed, I fake-coughed. "Erm, you don't _really_ have to come… I shouldn't have bothered you with all this."

"Oh no, I will come!" He flashed another cheery smile at me. "There is a reason you called me. You wanted me to come over to make you feel better. Talking- you did not want to talk. It is settled. I will see you soon!"

He closed his eyes, as though at peace, and placed his hands back into his lap. Russia swayed a little from side-to-side, so content in the current situation. My heart hammered so powerfully that it became harder to hear myself speak.

"R-Russia, dude, wait…"

"Bye, America!" he interrupted.

I fell quiet. I replied, "Bye, Russia…"

The call ended. After turning off the computer, I collapsed over it, sniffling.

Everything had been a mistake. _Why did I run away?_ I wondered. _I could have stayed with Britain and France, but now I've gone and done something that they're going to be furious about… I'm so dumb. Russia's coming over, and all he has to do is open a door to discover everything. Then… then everything is over. Russia will hate us, hurt us… and then the whole world will find out._

I could not imagine how I could possibly tell Britain what I had just done. Russia had been right in saying that I had wanted more than to just talk. But I had not realized it myself; therefore, I had been unable to prevent this mistake.

"I'm so stupid," I whimpered. "Oh, what did I do…"

I shuddered with the sniffles until tears were shaken free. Once the breaking point had been reached, I was crying openly. Quiet though I was, there was still no one around to disturb. But that meant that there was no one to comfort me either. I quaked over crossed arms until my leaking nose needed tending to.

Blurry-eyed, I packed up my things and hurried to the washroom. With rough toilet paper, I blew my nose before crashing before the mirror. There in the glass, I could see America crying in the reflection.

 _But Russia had treated me well, when he saw this face sad. Would he be merciful, if he saw me crying?_

I washed my face with warm water and hand soap. Unconcerned about the public's eyes, I returned to the ground level of the library and walked out. I did not want to go back yet, however. France and Britain had been warned about my departure, and especially after the chat with Russia, I felt no desire to return home.

* * *

I drove. Where was not important when I focused on the landscapes that changed around me. I deposited myself in one small town, parking only this once to break off sprinting. I tore around the location before I returned to my car, sweating and lungs pained from the cold air which had entered them.

All of the discomforts distracted me. I bought no water, instead making the long way back with a sticky throat. By the time I was back to America's place, the sun was far over the horizon and stars were pricking the sky. I exited the car to meet a door which had instantly opened for me.

They had heard me coming in with the car, and now Britain was dragging me in with his good arm.

"I'm sorry," he choked, hugging me and burying his face into my chest. "Please don't run away like that again."

France took his place, telling me, "We're sorry for everything we've done… and for all the secrets we've kept… We talked while you were gone… and we decided that instead of talking about the past, we will tell you the truth about the present and future."

"O-oh?" I blinked.

Britain looked me up and down, over my messy hair and clothes. "Where have you been?"

"Maybe you should take a shower and get dressed," France advised. "Relax a bit. And if you're hungry, which you must be, then I have something in your fridge for you."

I turned away when my lip started to tremble.

 _They are still so good to me… Why did I forget that?_

"Thank you…" I whispered with difficulty.

I hung up America's jacket, then I tried to relax as they had told me to. I removed myself of everything American, fitting myself into my own clothes and glasses, then I finally drank and ate. All was done quickly however, in my impatience to burrow into the warmth that others provided. I met with Kumajiro after having had brushed my teeth, carrying him to the couch and setting him on the soft carpet by my feet. I pressed my legs into either side of him while Britain and France sat beside me.

"So you want to know what the worse is," Britain sighed. "The things I never wanted to tell you in the beginning."

I closed my eyes. "Yes… Please, tell me. I am going to know about it anyway."

"Very well," Britain breathed, laying his hand over his wrapped arm and wincing. "So be it… As you know, we cut America's muscles recently so that he could not use his strength. Of course, he will heal. Again and again. You must have already assumed that you would have to check on him constantly, to freshen the cuts."

I nodded.

France took over. "The thing is, Canada, that if America gets too good at healing himself, you might _really_ have to hurt him. The shots you gave him will heal too, but the extra damage is only making him more dangerous."

"But you want me to hurt him _more_?"

Britain said, "You have to incapacitate him so that it is impossible for him to hurt anyone."

My breathing halted.

France murmured, "You might have to… No, we will do it for you. If it gets too dangerous, we will chop off his limbs and jaw. The main part is the only part that will be able to move. So we can tie up the middle and discard the rest."

"And it won't make a difference," Britain concluded. "It will regrow in the end."

"We can do it now," France said. "If it is too hard for you, we will do it. You've already done so much."

"We cut out his vocal cords while you were gone," Britain continued. "Because it is the only way to make him quiet now. We have to do these awful things, but we have to do them for the greater good. America would hate himself if he knew that he had hurt any of us. He would want us to do this too."

France reached out to me. "Canada?"

He starting shaking me. The faces of both France and Britain zoomed in and filled my line of sight.

Britain gasped, "Canada? Are you alright?"

France shook me a little harder. "Canada? C-Canada?"

"Oh no," Britain inhaled. "Canada? Say something."

"Canada?"

"Canada, no... Canada…"

I fell sideways, gravity collapsing my limp body into France. The last thing I remembered was hands holding my face, and fingers desperately finding themselves in my hair.

* * *

It was late. I saw the alarm clock in my bed showing a time after one in the morning. Rolling over however, I noticed that I was not alone. France was lying beside me, turned away and asleep. Kumajiro was on the side where I usually lay, and for once I was in the middle.

I crept out of the bed and walked to the bathroom. Afterwards though, I snuck through my home on the search for Britain. He was found asleep on the couch with a cover and two pillows to himself, one of those pillows cuddled by his arm. I slunk back down the hall, but crashed into a shadow.

I squeaked, but France hushed me.

"I heard you get up," he murmured. "Are you alright now? Are you thirsty?"

"I was… just looking for Britain."

"There was only room for one of us in your bed." France looked down, his eyes dark but deep in the darkness. "He thought that it was better if I was with you… because you might be more angry with him, after everything…"

I went silent and shivered in the cold. France led me back to the bed, where he crawled back under the blankets still warm from our old heat.

"There is a cup here," he murmured, passing me water from the nightstand.

I drank slowly.

"You fainted when we told you. We are so sorry. Canada. So we will do it, if it comes down to it. We will make him completely harmless and secure, then you'll never have to look at him."

France set the water to the side. He pet the side of my face as I lay my head back down, discovering some tears, and brushing them away.

"Don't cry anymore, Canada," he sighed. "It hurts others to see your tears."

I shifted into his arms. "Sorry…"

He held me closer.

"You are special, Canada. Many people see others crying and feel nothing at all. For you, only those that love and care about you can see your tears. And they love you so much that they feel the same sadness as you do."

His hand ceased rubbing my upper back, his fingers now curling into a relaxed fist. France fixed our pillows, then whispered, "Sleep, Canada. Soon, you will be happy again."

I gently told him goodnight, but I was afraid to sleep again. Not because of the nightmares, but because I knew that later this day, Russia would arrive. This comfort would be short-lived, once they discovered the mistake I had made.

But France managed it somehow, that task of easing me to sleep. Truly, it was strange without the Russian music playing, but perhaps tonight I was better without it. I needed to forget about Russia until the time came to deal with what I had done.

On that night, the nightmares returned. But the house among the corn appeared to protect me again, offering refuge from the zombies that pursued me. Skeletal, black-rotted zombies with gaping mouths and reaching fingers, who all could run so fast.

* * *

Britain and France treated me so kindly and carefully that my day was filled by overwhelming guilt. I was rendered mum at every question they posed, and every action I took was languid, It grew on their suspicion, but only in the way that they worried terribly about me. They blamed themselves for last night, but I assured them over and over again that it was safer for me to know the situation.

Nevertheless, we made no choice about America. They were too nervous to ask my opinion about America's dismemberment again so soon after I had fainted from the thought of it.

When the doorbell rang on America's side though, a sound so overly cheery in this gloomy building, my stress heightened. The whiteness and wideness of my eyes gave it away, and finally, they understood.

"Who is that?" Britain demanded.

My throat twisted into a knot and I said nothing. I sprang from the couch and dashed to America's side, crying out that I was coming, before I hurried on my disguise. Then, I approached the door on wobbling legs while France and Britain scrambled up to me.

They froze when I unlocked and opened the door. We then all saw on the steps, bold against the background of the setting sun, Russia standing and smiling at me.

"America, I am here," he purred.

He released his grip on his suitcase and kissed my cheeks, once, twice- then stopped himself and pulled back, startled by his own actions. I had not reacted out in anger however, but was looking back at him in the same worry that I had worn all day.

Russia looked as though he had wanted to apologize, but then went quiet at the sight of Britain and France gawking at him. Russia's eyes dropped to Britain's injured arm, then he looked to me.

"So it was true," he said, although I went stiff as he confirmed that I had given him information. "Britain got hurt by the thing that worries you… and here is France. Why though, do Britain and France know so much about this thing?"

"You invited him?" Britain cried. "America, what were you thinking? How could you!"

"I-I didn't mean-"

"What does he know?" France gasped.

Russia replied, "Oh, I know that America is sad, scared, and not feeling safe. Something in his life is frightening him, and it hurt Britain. I wanted to know what kind of weapon it was, but America would not tell me."

I protested, "I'm telling you, there isn't any weapon!"

"Be quiet!" Britain snapped. "America, I can't believe you told him anything! I trusted you to keep this completely secret, and now you've gone and informed the enemy!"

"Enemy?" I gasped. "No, he's not-"

France exclaimed, "America, you know what will happen!"

Britain shouted, "Did you honestly think that a nation like him wouldn't take advantage of weakness? If you've told him all that, it just proves that he's only your friend to get close to you! To find out your secret and end you!"

 _End America_ , was what I knew he really meant. But I did not want to believe it now, when they bristled against me and when Russia was now moving out in front of me.

"If I wanted to do something bad to America, then it would already be done," he said. "But because he has been nice, I want to be nice to him too."

"This is what you went out for yesterday?" Britain burst out as he threw out his arm. "You didn't want us to know what you were doing, so you went off blathering to _him_?"

My mouth closed behind Russia as he cut in and replied for me.

"Why are you yelling at America? It is hard for him to not be sad, if he is so stressed to be alone and quiet."

"Alone?" Britain cried. "He had us!"

Russia hummed. "But you lied to him. He wanted someone who wouldn't lie to him."

"You?" Britain shouted at Russia, but looked and directed his anger to me. "You are _the_ most untrustworthy, backward-"

"Stop!" I hollered. "Please, you're making it worse…"

"America," France moaned. "You've done the worse possible thing. It was bad when there were three of us, but now there are four… and _him_. Russia will surely be recognized!"

 _What do they mean?_ _Oh, wait..._

"I do not understand," Russia muttered. "I think you should tell me what is happening. I have seen poor America suffering for so long, and I do not know why. I do not know what to do for him."

"Do for him?" Britain objected. "You couldn't do anything good for him, or anything that we haven't already done for him! You being here will just make things more difficult for him!"

Britain and France stared at me. I scrunched up, more so when Russia loomed over me.

"America," Russia mumbled. "That is not true, right? You want me here. You have to tell them that."

"Send him off!" Britain cried. "You can't bring him any deeper into this!"

 _But, he'll just become more curious. He would come back on his own, as a spy, and angry._

I looked down and held my arm. My tongue lay heavily in my mouth, unable to move and form any response. I felt my heart though, shivering so fast inside the petrified body.

Russia murmured, "Oh, America is frozen. I think all the yelling did that."

"It wasn't our fault," France said. "He is frightened by what he has done, and frightened by you."

"Me?" Russia smiled. "No, America is never afraid of me. He is only angry and cocky. He is not scared of me."

Russia lay a heavy hand on my shoulder.

" _Da_ , America? Friends are not like that."

But I was frightened, and of many things. I wanted to express myself, but I was not physically capable or willing to say everything that I wanted to. I considered dashing off and locking everyone out, but that was only a temporary solution. These three would only argue anyway.

I reached back and dragged in Russia's luggage. The action was worth the same as my words. Britain and France jolted, eyes widening, while Russia merely smiled. The hand upon me promptly became softer, running once down my back.

"You're making a mistake," Britain warned me. "You won't be able to handle the guilt, if everything is ruined because of your decision to let him in."

I whipped my head up. "Why are you always deciding what I can handle?"

"Because we know what hurts you," France answered quietly. "And what is not necessary for you to know."

"You made us say things that hurt you," Britain supported him. "And that was too much for you."

"It was not too much! I needed to know. It doesn't matter how I react-"

Britain waved me off. "That is not the point. We know what hurts you, but Russia does not. He will only bring you more pain."

"I do not like what you say about me," Russia uttered. "You just do not want me to be America's friend."

I felt so torn. There were parts that I liked about each person, but also parts that I could not live with. At this moment, no one here was perfect for me.

"Tell me everything," I whispered. "Just do it already. Tell me the whole story."

"We told you the worse of it already," France replied.

"No." I shook my head. "The way you talk… There is more. And it involves me somehow."

"Involves you?" Britain gasped. "Where did you get such an absurd idea-"

Russia said, "I think America will be happier if he knows everything."

"Stay out of this." Britain raised a glare at Russia.

France exhaled. He told me, "How can we tell you, now that Russia is here? We cannot leave him alone, and if he is near us, he will hear us."

Russia stepped up to say something. Then, however, not far down the hall, there was a sound.

A faint knock was heard rapping upon wood.

Russia did not notice it, but the rest of us had gone silent. Eyes opened but dared not look toward the direction of the basement, lest we reveal the location of our terror. Russia saw our faces and changed the answer he had formulated in his mind, asking instead, "Why are you not trusting me, thinking that I will hurt him? I like the peace he is bringing. I never took advantage of his weakness. I was nice and I comforted him. Tell them, America. When you visited me, I did nothing to you."

"Er yeah…" I swallowed, taking Russia's suitcase and starting to move toward the Canadian side. "Russia was good. Say, Russia, do you want to check out Canada's home? He's away on a trip but…"

I was sweating so much. There was an obvious tremble in my voice, especially because the sound of nails scraping across wood had been audible as I had been speaking. Russia could not have known what the true source of that sound was, but he had noted my behaviour. I gasped when he held my forearm and stopped me.

"What is wrong?" Russia gazed at me in confusion, a look of disappointment painted on his face. "Did I do something…?"

Britain and France were fidgeting, clenching their teeth and making pushing motions. Russia had to get out of this area.

"No, not you…" I tried to assure him in my floundering tone.

Russia watched a drop of sweat running down the side of my face.

"You are scared," he whispered. "Like after one of your nightmares. Is the problem close to us?"

I shook and looked to the others with helplessness slapped upon my expression. There was nothing that I could say that Russia would believe. He had already obtained his answer.

The three of us made the mistake of silence as we tried to figure out what to do. Russia too, went quiet. That was how he heard the next weak tap upon the distant door.

 _Knock_.

It was a quiet sound, but it cracked the air of the home like snapping ice. Russia let out a breath and looked among us.

"This thing?" he smiled. "This is what hurt Britain and is scaring you?"

 _Knock… knock…_


	12. Chapter 12

Our jaws were dropping, but Russia was looking satisfied.

"I wonder who is knocking at the door?" he smiled. "Maybe I should answer it?"

Without hesitation, Britain and France sprang to bar his path. I saw the side of Russia's amused expression, for he knew how easily he could walk through them. But, since he still believed me to be America, he would believe that _I_ was strong enough to stop him.

I took hold of Russia's wrist, squeezing it hard, but not enough to hurt him. "Don't."

Russia snapped his head back and glared at me. "Why do you not trust me with your secret? Do you not think that I feel like you do when they hide things from you?"

My grip loosened. When he felt it, Russia yanked himself free and walked forward. I stumbled and caught my balance, then grasped him again.

"It's horrifying," I breathed. "You can't look…"

Russia stared at me again. "You just told them that they were deciding what you could handle. You did not like it. Will you be a hypocrite, America? And you forget that I have seen many bad things in my life. I can look at very violent things."

"You don't understand," I warned him. "You have _never_ seen this before. It is not natural. It cannot be explained…"

"You make me more curious."

He moved forward, pushing into the flesh wall made of France and Britain. They grabbed at him, but he moved quickly and shoved hard enough to make them stumble. Russia slipped through their clutches, yet they were persistent, snatching at him and getting dragged along. I panicked and grabbed Russia too, but it was hard to make myself pull him back.

 _Maybe he won't say anything to anyone else. There's still no way for him to know that it is America!_

Russia came into proximity of the door. He reached through the people as I held onto his arm, turning the lock on the door. As though a venomous snake had appeared, Britain and France leapt back out of instinct. Russia would have been left alone then, but I dropped my grip and stood beside him, quivering, but there regardless.

When he tried to open the door inwards, it hit something solid. Russia paused, then pushed a little harder. Something scraped down a few steps, then the door opened wide and revealed the dark. I jerked as the dim light from the hall partly washed over the body lying on the stairs, revealing the skull that lifted its eyeless face up to us.

The jaw hung uselessly, the bones exploded and sharp around a moldy tongue. The dry hair and visible bones gave the appearance of age to the creature, as though it was a mummified and cobweb-laced corpse that had arisen from its grave. Most of the body hung as immobile, dragging extensions, but one arm stretched out with effort, placing a withered hand with yellow nails onto the next step.

Absolutely silent, the wide-mouthed skeleton moved up very slowly, and at a noticeable angle. It was sliding toward Russia, yet still he made no move. I turned my head to Russia, seeing how he blinked and stared at the corpse. It was taking him time to confirm if what he was seeing was true.

Britain and France were petrified. Russia was frozen as well, too absorbed in his mind to realize how close it was coming to him. I seemed to be the only one to really clue in on it.

I was just about to grab the door to close it, when Russia gasped. Until that point, he hadn't been breathing at all. Now though, he moved, coming to life again. He hopped down the few stairs and booted America. Hard. As easy as kicking a pillow, the skeleton flew away and struck the wall somewhere in the cover of the dark.

Russia hopped back up the stairs, reaching for the light switch and flicking it on. I was already stepping down then, grabbing Russia's arm and looking over his shoulder. What the light shone upon became visible to us both.

The body lay motionless on the floor. I checked on Russia's face as I pulled him upwards to me. Those expanded eyes flickered over the form left in the basement, seeing in the whole, a severely rotten zombie that began to roll over to weakly stare up and directly at him.

I pulled more, and suddenly Russia's feet became light. He flew up the stairs with me and tripped back into the hall, struggling to catch his balance there. I turned off the light, closed the door and locked it, then faced him. Russia immediately looked away and took in a normal breath, then continued to respire in his silence with deliberate measure .

It had passed so fast and none of us seemed to know what words to say. Britain and France looked so utterly shocked that they might have been struggling to believe that it had all really happened. When I espied Russia's expression however, I noticed that it was unlike anything that I had ever encountered before. I wasn't sure what it signified, but his distant staring made me uncomfortable.

Finally, Russia whispered, "What have you done, America?"

Britain seized his chance. "We've created a zombie."

"You have created…" Russia still fixed the door with an unfaltering gaze. "How…"

"That I won't explain to you," Britain replied. "That is a secret of the British government."

"Why did you do it...?"

"To see if science could reverse death. A simple goal."

France joined, "Don't worry, Russia. It is not contagious."

"It is strong," Russia mumbled. "Very strong, if it hurt Britain… and if you had to hurt it too…" Russia turned to me. "This is why you are afraid. You live with this in your house, wondering if it will escape… I understand now. But, I don't understand why you made it such a big secret. This is easy to tell me."

"We don't want to be stopped," France said. "So we didn't want to tell anyone."

"Who else knows?" Russia asked.

"Us, and Canada." I counted on my fingers. "Five nations."

He pointed toward the door and inquired quietly, "Who is that person?"

"A donation to science," Britain said. "Written consent from a random American. Of course, he had no idea as to what use science would make of him."

Russia nodded, but his nodding was off. When I watched it, it had not seemed like a normal nodding of understanding. He began to move away, but Britain grabbed onto him.

"Hold on," he muttered. "What are you going to do, now that you know?"

Russia pushed him away and glared at where Britain had held him.

"Nothing," he uttered. "Do not touch me."

I was growing worried now by the unusual voice. Something was wrong with Russia. As he walked back to his luggage, I scrambled after his heels.

"You aren't going, are you?" I gasped from behind him.

"No," he replied. "I said that I would stay and keep you company. This will not change."

Britain, who had been with me in this situation for a longer amount of time, was more stressed and affected by this turn of events. He groaned, "This has gone too far. I cannot believe that you've allowed him to come here, America. What are we going to do now? We are so close to the cure. If Russia tells anyone…"

Russia interjected, "I will be quiet. America said you only needed one more month, and I am interested to see the result." To me now, Russia said, "What do you see from this? Are you planning to profit from selling this cure?"

"God no. This cure is far too hard to create because the ingredients are rare. There's just no way that I can make profit off this."

France affirmed, "This is just to see if we have the scientific ability. That is all."

Russia nodded strangely again.

I asked, "Russia, are you okay, dude?"

"Ah yes. I am okay."

The others believed him, but just I couldn't. It was difficult to explain, yet I sensed a difference from the Russia that I had calmly spent a vacation with.

I turned to France and Britain. "Could you… Give us some time? Alone, I mean."

"Alone?" Britain exclaimed. "You better not tell him anything."

"I won't."

"Then why don't you want us around?" he objected.

I murmured, "Just trust me. Stay here and just leave us alone…"

Britain sighed, heavy with the weight of the situation. I grabbed Russia's things then led him to my side, closing the door and imagining France and Britain gathering by it to listen in. I made sure to be extra quiet as I beckoned for Russia to follow me to the couch where we would talk.

He moved slowly and sat down with a careful, delicate movement. I came down carefully beside him, as though he was an easily startled animal. I made sure to smooth out my voice to the point that I almost sounded like my normal self, so as to not threaten him in any way.

"Are you really alright?" I murmured. "You've never seen anything like that after all…"

"You were right about what you said before," he replied in a faint voice. "This thing… it is unnatural. Dead things are supposed to stay dead. Why did you change that? How did you do it? It can move although it is rotten… and it knew where we were, without any eyes. It looked at me... What did you do?"

Now I was catching on. Russia was scared. It had only been difficult to see because he had been trying to hide it from us. My heart fell, heavy like a stone in my chest.

"Oh, Russia… Hey, it's okay. Nothing's going to happen to you."

He sent a frail side gaze over to me. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. Only Britain knows what to do. The rest of us…"

Russia looked away from me. "What does France know then? Why is he here, and angry at me too…?"

"The thing is… this isn't the first time this has happened."

 _Why am I saying this?_

"They've cured someone before, and it worked. France was with Britain when they were testing out the cure on the first one. He doesn't know how to make it but… he knows everything about what these dead people do. When I told you that they lied and kept secrets… it was about the past. The original zombie."

Russia was tensing up. I tried to make eye contact with him and to get a look at his face, but Russia kept looking away.

"There was another…" he breathed. "And you brought someone back from the dead."

"Er, yeah…"

Stranger he was acting. I wasn't helping him at all; he was more afraid. I snapped up and grabbed a folded blanket that had been resting on the arm of the couch. It was as maple-themed as the room was, since it was a print of my red and white flag. I unfolded it and lay the heavy blanket over his shoulders, the leaf stretching out into its proper shape on his back. He gave a red corner a slow glance as I spread and adjusted the blanket around him.

I sat back down and exhaled quietly.

"Russia. I'm so sorry that you got dragged into this."

Russia said nothing. His arms crossed over his chest, fingers stretching and pulling the blanket tighter to him. My throat clenched up from the sight of him. He was hardly showing any emotions, but I could see a haunted pool in his eyes that made me yearn to do more to help him.

I tapped the remote controller into my hand then turned on the TV. Russia flinched, ever so slightly, at the sudden appearance of new sounds and colours. I shifted close to him and pressed the remote against his fingers. They loosened and allowed the remote to enter into his hold.

"Pick something to watch," I murmured.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Russia never replied, but then he began to surf through the satellite channels.

"I'm gonna get you something," I told him, still using a gentle voice. "Something to drink. I'll be back."

I slipped away and entered the kitchen. As fast as I possibly could, I made a small pot of water boil on the stove for some cocoa. In the cupboards was a container of powder with tiny marshmallows. Assuming that he would enjoy this, I chose this mix. These marshmallows expanded and came to life once I had poured hot water over them in the mug.

I stopped pouring to add some milk to cool it a little, and to also add some smoothness. I escorted the mug out from the kitchen and onto the low table in front of Russia.

"Here…" I set it down with tender care. "This is for you."

He flashed his eyes down onto it and regarded the picture of Parliament upon it. I tossed back my head and noticed that Russia had not yet decided upon anything to watch on TV. A news channel was playing in French, filling the room with the sound of people speaking with the heavy Quebec accent. Russia watched the weak steam rising from the mug, as though unaware of the noises at all.

"Russia," I said. He peered at me, then looked away. "Hold on. I'll be a minute."

I went and fetched America's laptop and charger, coming back and setting it on the table. At that moment, I heard a regular knocking on the usual door. To act more American in front of Russia, I unlocked the other door, then threw them both open suddenly like America always did.

France was startled, shocked when he was left fully exposed in front of Russia. He grabbed me and pulled me onto America's side, closing both doors and cutting himself out from sight. Britain hurried over to me and hissed, "What did you say to him?"

I ensure to keep my voice low as I answered "I elaborated a bit on the story."

"How?" France whispered.

"Just that you cured someone before, and that only Britain really knows how to do it. But, that is not the point. I want to stay with Russia for a while." I frowned. "He's scared."

"Scared?" Britain scoffed under his breath. "Russia is not easily scared."

"He looked angry back there," France said, sparing a glance back towards the basement. "The only ones who were scared were us! I was not sure what he was going to do..."

"Look," I told them. "I don't want to leave him alone for long."

Britain cut in, "As you shouldn't, for obvious reasons."

I started walking back to the doors, pulling only on the commonly used one this time. I paused and sighed, "Be nicer to him… He is in shock. He's never seen anything dead come back to life."

I closed the door and isolated myself again with Russia. At the first glance, it seemed that he had not moved at all since I had made him cocoa. When closer however, I noticed that some of the drink had disappeared.

I pried open the computer now and logged in. A single tab was opened up to YouTube, before I put the laptop onto his lap and murmured, "Like before. Let's find something to watch."

Russia slipped his arms out from the blankets and took hold of it. His pale hands went over the keyboard, but he hesitated and stared at the search bar. I didn't want to rush him, so I left him to think and only wondered how else I could help him. It just tore at me to see Russia so quiet and aberrant; I remembered none of his threats now as I hastened to find a way to heal him.

"Okay, wait. I'll be back again," I sighed. I went back into the kitchen and looked for some kind of snack. All I could really find were Oreos and Ritz crackers, so I sliced some Maple Dale cheddar to accompany the crackers, and brought Russia the entire collection.

There was a little less cocoa in the mug again. I lay down everything in front of Russia, who demonstrated a little surprise at what I had given him. I pointed at the food, explaining, "Canada's fine if he raid the fridge a little. Got some Oreos and Ritz, and cheese if you want it."

He had accomplished nothing while I had been gone. Despite everything that I had said, Russia still kept his head down and was staring at something on the ground. I followed his gaze to a few smudges of black on the floor that led up to the couch.

"Sorry..." Russia murmured.

He remembered at last, along with me, that he had left his shoes on. Russia removed them and I rushed to him to promptly take them off his hands. One of the shoes was smeared with the rotted tissue and juice of America, when Russia had kicked him. Russia's eyebrows twitched while he regarded the substance, but I eased him.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll take care of it all. Just look for something for us to watch."

I cleaned off Russia's shoe and put them both by the door. Then, I fetched cleaning materials to deal with the floor. When I saw Russia again, he had lifted up his socked feet, pulling his legs to his chest and concealing them behind the blanket. Now it was more obvious that he was disturbed when he was so wrapped up in this cozy blanket.

I fell onto all fours on the floor and scrubbed everything away. Once this side was clean, I went to America's but found no smudges there. Astonished, I walked in further but only found Britain lying down on the couch. Some of his legs hung over one arm of the couch, while his head rested on a pillow jammed against France's leg. The TV was on, but only France was watching it, since Britain's eyes were closed.

They seemed to have nothing to say now. Britain blinked at me wearily as I came close, showing that he had not been sleeping. At least, not yet.

"You didn't sleep well last night?" I inquired, although it was strange that so soon after I had seen him, he was lying here and quiet.

"He just needs to relax," France answered. "Anyway, what exactly are you doing? Is everything going alright?"

"I think we're good. Russia won't be a problem."

"Do you need us for anything?"

"No… I just wondered about the… mess Russia left on the floor. But it's already been taken care of."

"Of course," France said.

I nodded with awkward grace, stepping backwards. "Okay… see you later."

Once back on my side, I gave my hands a good wash. After, I packed an idea into my pocket, then I came to Russia and revealed a bundle of paper scraps.

"Do you remember the things you drew for me?" I sat and slid across the couch to him so that he could easily see the cards. "I kept them."

Russia dipped his head and lay his attention onto the carefree drawings. The corners of his mouth turned up into a soft smile. "I was not sure if you would keep them… but I thought that you might. I hoped you would, because I kept yours."

We flipped through the cards carefully, a calm starting to come over Russia. The disturbed shade of his eyes faded away and his gaze was mild again. I started to remember, from that face, why I had wanted to be friends with him. This expression was the reason that I had forgotten his threat, because with this face, I felt safe.

"You uh, you said that you were drawing these characters from a show." I paused on the card with the crocodile standing upright and wearing clothes. "Maybe we can watch it? You said we would watch it some day, and you can't seem to find anything to watch…"

Russia nodded and snuggled into the blanket. "Yes, we can… Okay."

His arms snuck out brought the computer back onto the couch. He turned away from me and searched for the show on YouTube. Once he had found the first episode with English subtitles, he passed the laptop back to me to connect to the TV.

"It doesn't take long," he admitted. "We can maybe watch a little of other things."

I read the title of the clip. "So this is _Cheburashka_?"

"Yes. Everyone knows this one."

Joy and pride lit up in his eyes. Russia wiggled into the cushion and took the cocoa, drinking it all then settling down with the blanket and some cheese. The tension in my chest was released in seeing Russia change like a flipped coin. Just as the episode started, I made my way to the couch and sat there with my legs crossed. I was not sure what was coming, but the opening credits came with Cyrillic-spelled names and aged music that played a melancholic tune.

The mood of the song turned into a lighter one. Soon, I was delighted by a story of innocent characters who came together and became friends. Loneliness vanished in that world, thus by the end of the episode, all that were left within me were warm feelings. I remembered then why I enjoyed family movies, which always guaranteed moral lessons and happy endings.

I looked at Russia. He seemed much better now, so I wondered what he would do from here on out. Perhaps, this is how we could continue. If the values of what we had watched were so dear to him, then it could be that the time he spent with me was more important than anything else.

 _Why did I cry yesterday?_ I thought. It felt like he would never hurt me, even if I told him that I had been lying a bit to him.

 _Lying…_ I reminded myself, regarding Russia and feeling guilt. _I hate how lying has become ingrained in many aspects of my life._

"Did you like it?" Russia asked.

"I loved it," I grinned. "So cute. Let's watch the next one!"

I got up and automatically found the link for the next episode. I came back down and tucked myself in against the couch arm, lying over a throw pillow. The episode began with another somber song, to which Russia sighed with a smile.

"This is the birthday song," he said. "We sing it because of _Cheburashka_."

I listened to the entirety, reading the lyrics sung by the crocodile character. After it, I lay my hand onto his back.

"Birthday songs are supposed to be happy!" I protested. "What was that?"

He smiled again. "I like this song a lot."

I laughed and kept my hand on his back for a few more seconds still. Russia looked to his side to me, but I said nothing as I looked back into his eyes. Then, my hand dropped and we continued watching.

At the end of the second episode, Russia sighed. He turned completely to the side to properly address me.

"America," he breathed, "why are you being so nice to me right now? You've done so much, but you didn't have to do any of it."

"Because I wanted you to feel better. It made me sad to see you so down."

"But why does it make you sad?"

Silence came as the YouTube clip ended. The atmosphere thickened and weighed down heavily upon me as I considered everything that I had fetched and done to comfort him.

"Because… Why wouldn't I?" I thought back to what France had said to me. "That's what happens when people care about each other. They feel each other's sadness or whatever."

"It sounds good, but I am not sure," he said. "When you are sad, I am not sad. I am more afraid than other things."

"Don't be scared," I answered softly. "You don't have to be."

"Does it make you scared when I am?"

"No… I feel sad and guilty."

Russia asked, "Then why sad, when I have a feeling that is not sad?"

"Sad is the reaction to anything negative I guess. It makes me want to help you and comfort you."

Russia pulled off the blanket from himself and dropped it to the side. His arms snuck out and contained me, scooping me into a light hug.

"Oh?" I smirked.

I let him drag me in and I returned the embrace. Then, he slowly pushed me on the shoulders and held me away with straight arms. Russia kept his eyes on me as he shook his head. "No one is so kind to me. I cannot believe this."

I laughed, "What? Come on."

"Yes, no one else."

"Why are you surprised by me? You've been really kind to me, so of course I'm gonna be nice to you!"

Russia tapped me away and smiled. He shook his head again, but when his eyes had closed, I snatched him into a crushing hug. Now, his bright eyes snapped out and shone over me with surprise and elation. He had hardly any time to react before I fell back, grinning and bouncing on the cushion like a hyper puppy.

I airboxed his arm, snickering, "Accept it, you are now the proud owner of a top-notch, triple A bud-"

Russia shoved away my hands and threw the blanket at me. I choked and batted it away as he giggled, "You are always humble, America."

Once I had crumbled up the Canadian blanket, I tried to fold it. I was given no opportunity to since Russia had immediately pushed me off the couch. Not with hard force, but I dropped the blanket and fell down onto the floor.

"So you're feeling better?" I chuckled and tilted my head up at him.

He replied, "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," I admitted.

Russia threw all the pillows at me while I was down. I did not fight against them, but I let them pile up on me. Russia removed the large cushions and added them on as well, until I was nearly covered up entirely. I heard him drop onto the floor before pillows shuffled around me. For some brief seconds, I was exposed, but in the end, darkness enveloped me and there were only pricks of light here and there.

Russia had completely hidden me in a structure of pillows and cushions. I laughed from within, a true laugh that relaxed me. This was so silly and utterly pointless, yet I loved it all. As myself, there was no one who would do something like this for me. Ignored and often not seen, I had missed out on these experiences as a kid.

I stayed within the structure. Soon, I heard the telltale sound of a phone's camera. I cried, "Hey! Did you just-"

My head popped out from the side. Russia quickly tucked the phone back into his pocket then tried to recover my head with the pillow that had tumbled away. I ducked back inside just as Russia fixed it and added the blanket over me, eliminating more of the light.

Another picture was heard being taken. I cried, "Hey! Who are you sending those to?"

Russia only tittered. I then heard the plates being disturbed and some crunches of Ritz crackers, but I remained within the warm structure and let him take what he wanted.

The door opened and someone entered the room. I waited for a comment that judged what we were doing, but the footsteps hurried down the hallway instead.

"Who was that?" I asked Russia.

"France," he informed me.

"France!" I shouted. "Everything okay?"

"Yes!" he called back from afar. "Just looking for more cleaners! We missed a spot but we're out!"

I heard the footsteps return and then the slam of the door. The rush had been a tad bizarre, so I popped out my head and asked Russia, "What was he carrying?"

"Hmm… a bottle."

It seemed to go with his excuse, but I was still thrown off by how suddenly he had entered and departed. I crawled out from the pillows and blankets, taking no time to organize them as I followed France. The door was opened and I peeked into the room, but neither France nor Britain were on the couch like they just had been.

 _Did they go to the basement?_

I walked in and Russia trailed me. We scanned the area, but they were nowhere nearby. The kitchen and living room were empty. With Russia, I wandered up to the basement door. First, I listened with my ear against the door, but there were no sounds that those two would have made. All I heard was a scraping sound close to the wood as a body struggled up the stairs.

I pulled back and shivered. "They're not in there."

We strained our ears and walked down the hall. Soon, I noticed the closed door of America's bedroom, a light bleeding out from under the crack. Now, we could hear their voices, low and argumentative.

"You've just spilled a drop," Britain hissed. "Watch it."

"I'm trying," France complained, "but I'm kind of in a hurry for Mr. let's-hurt-myself-so-no one-else-gets-hurt!"

"What kind of insult is tha- _aie_! Honestly, what are you doing?"

I turned the knob and opened the door. France and Britain jolted and stared at us in shock, caught sitting side-by-side on the edge of the bed. In France's hands were a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a white towel, although Britain held nothing at all. Instead, he was holding his injured arm out, completely unwrapped and with his wound exposed.

A crescent cut showed marks that looked like teeth, but the rest was a rough mess of abrasions, punctures, and wide cuts. Nevertheless, the severity of them paled in comparison to the sharp purple and black that consumed the injury.

"Br-Britain," I choked. "What- what is that?"

He sighed heavily and swore. "An infection."

Britain tried hiding it behind his back. I shook and hurried up to him, crying, "I thought you told me everything about him! What is this?"

"The reason I told you not to touch him too much," he muttered. "Don't you remember what happened to the insects? He is toxic."

Russia uttered, "I thought this was not contagious. Will Britain become a zombie now?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Britain snapped. "I just said that it's an infection. There's nothing more to it."

I grabbed my hair and pulled at it. My eyes squeezed tight as I moaned, "Why you can't just _ever_ tell me the truth? Why do you have to hide everything?"

France had soaked the towel and was beckoning for Britain to stretch out his arm. Britain froze and twitched, then hesitantly complied. I gasped, "So you've already done this before! You bought that bottle- when… when I had fainted, right?"

"You don't want to know everything," Britain replied with a tight voice, watching France timidly as he neared the cloth to his arm. "Is your life really better now, to know and see me in pain?"

France paused and looked at me. "Don't watch this, America. Go back to Canada's side with Russia."

I remained frozen in place, but not out of my own stubborn will. I shivered and stayed standing before them, causing Britain and France glanced at each other before they proceeded. Britain pulled out a cloth that had been hiding behind him, then he stuffed it into his mouth and bit down into it. My heart accelerated in horror as I compared it to what Britain had done to America before, when he had crammed a dish towel into his mouth to keep him quiet.

The worse had not come yet. France held onto Britain's extended arm by the wrist as his other hand placed down the cloth onto his cut. From behind the cloth, Britain released a muffled screech and tried to pull away his arm. France yanked it out and fought against him, forcing the cloth to lay on him for a longer time. For many eternal seconds, I watched how Britain vainly writhed and shrieked in agony from the powerful sting of the rubbing alcohol.

I stepped back trembling, my eyes starting to water. France took off the cloth, then Britain removed the one in his mouth with a quaking hand. Sweat and tears streaked Britain's face while France's was marked by intense guilt and worry. Despite this, France said, "I don't think this is enough to make a difference… It has to be more."

Britain's eyes widened in fear, but he tried to joke to ease himself. "Y-you bugger, you just enjoy putting me in pain!"

France said nothing as he took back the unlidded bottle. This time, he put the towel under Britain's arm, and held the bottle over the cut. Britain went pale and shook, but he managed to put the cloth back into his mouth.

France told me, "America… Please don't watch."

But he did nothing to stop me. I lost control of my legs anyway, and could not get them to carry me from this place. I wobbled as Russia stood behind me in silence, with whatever expression he was wearing hidden behind me.

France poured the rubbing alcohol over the cut, flooding the holes and trenches with the burning liquid. It spilled over and dampened the cloth as Britain screamed and fell back, jerking away so powerfully that France lost his grip. The cloth fell away and Britain curled up in a rapidly breathing ball, the excess liquid pouring directly onto the bed from off his arm.

It took an eternity before his pain ebbed and he relaxed, when he could remove the cloth from his mouth with the last of his tears falling from his face. I wanted to approach him, but my stomach felt like it had been flipped upside down. I moaned and swayed, holding my guts and crying. I fell into Russia, who was rigid and did not move as I turned and lay back against him.

The image of Britain's revolting, purple wound lingered boldly in my mind's eye, accompanied by his muffled screams and tears. A second after I had touched Russia however, I heard Britain mutter to me, "Don't touch him. Just look at him. He doesn't care at all."

I stepped back just enough so that I could look up at Russia's face. Sure enough, there was not a trace of disturbance there. It was as though he had just observed a completely normal occurrence. However, when he looked at my fright, his expression broke into some sympathy.

"Let's go back, America," he murmured. My wrist was grabbed a moment later by him, and I was dragged away from the room. I stumbled into a normal walk and went with him without constraint, although I glanced over my shoulder and thought about Britain, wondering if he would be alright.

Before we had made it back to my side however, Russia began to ask, "Why aren't you angry, America?"

"Angry?"

"Because they lied to you again. They did not tell you everything."

I said, "I don't think they will ever give me everything."

We were back inside, now cleaning up the mess we had left behind. Russia folded the blanket and continued, "I think you can force them to tell you."

"Look, I'm not going to do anything bad to them just because I want to know something. I feel too bad just making them talk about it in general."

Russia sighed and plopped the blanket onto the back of the couch. "I do not understand why you are not angry. They do not trust you."

I defended them, "Hey, they just don't want me to suffer. You saw how disturbed I just got."

Reflecting on this point, Russia questioned me, "Why are you so weak now, America? Why does that make you scared?"

"It's Britain… He raised me, you know. I can't watch him get hurt because he's very close and special to me."

Russia adjusted the big cushions in their proper spot. "Okay, but I am wondering why Britain was angry with me when I was not bothered. Why should I feel for him, when he does not do good things to me? If I was hurt, he would feel nothing for me."

"I don't think that's true." I checked over the couch and made sure that everything was neat. "It isn't fun seeing people get hurt."

Russia disagreed, but I hadn't expected him to agree with me so easily. He was far more used to seeing people suffering than I was. As long as he felt for me and for those that were close to him, then hope was not lost.

"I would feel awful if I saw you get hurt, by the way," I assured him, patting the couch to get him back beside me. "Just so you know."

Russia's back was to me, and he was silent as he searched for something on YouTube. He knelt by the computer and all that he did was displayed on the screen. What came up was a show called _A Kitten Named Woof_. I laughed at the sight of it, but I tried to make it sound more kind than the irritating laugh that America usually did. I was successful, since he came back to me smiling.

"We will watch one episode," he explained. "I think this is cute cat."

"You like cats?"

"Yes, now watch this little kitten. Very cute he is."

I focused on the TV and tried to forget about the agony I had just seen Britain suffer through. Russia's questions haunted my mind however, and I wondered how far I should consider them. He thought, after all, that I should be less forgiving to Britain.

 _Should I be?_ I wondered. _Is it really so bad?_

When the short clip was over, I asked Russia nonchalantly, "Is lying really so bad to you?"

"The people around me lie so much. I am very tired of it. I wish everyone was honest to me. Maybe I do lies too, but I do not like it. If you will be honest with me, then I will be too, and we will have a good friendship."

"I've probably lied to you in the past. Is that okay?"

"Yes, because I did the same."

Trying not to sound too nervous, I continued, "And if I had been hiding something from you, but then told you now, would you be angry?"

"You just did this," Russia smiled, believing that he understood what I was getting at. "With the project, _da_? But I told you already, I am not angry with you. Your kindness to me is more important, so it will not be forgotten."

"Cool stuff, cool stuff."

I dropped the topic, aware of how close my body was to sweating and shaking. Russia would have easily noticed it when I sat right next to him, and he would have posed questions about it. I encouraged him instead to pick another cartoon to watch while I made him more cocoa.

I ended up bringing us both some to drink in the Canadian themed mugs I had. There were other designs, some from fandoms, but I was too embarrassed to bring those out. As we started to watch YouTube again, I draped the Canadian blanket over myself, finding that as the evening aged, it was growing a tad colder. I snuggled inside it as Russia had before, and both of us drank deeply from our cups.

Once he had put his mug down, however, he began to stare at me.

"What is it?" I murmured.

"Why did you tell Canada about the zombie?"

"Oh, well… he's my neighbour and all. He heard some noises and I couldn't keep it secret. I told him a while ago."

I winced internally as I deepened the lie.

"Where did he go?" Russia asked. "You said Canada went on a trip."

"Yeah. Up north."

Russia whispered, "If he leaves a lot, I think that your project is stressing him too much."

"A lot?" I raised my brows. "I never said that he left a lot…"

"But Canada did not come to our last meeting. Did he go on a trip instead?"

I stammered, "Y-you noticed that he wasn't there?"

Russia nodded.

I looked away and locked my fingers together under the blanket. Eye contact was impossible to make as I asked quietly, "What do you think about Canada? I mean, he's not really noticed by many people… I totally did not expect that you would notice it if he did not show up."

Russia answered, "Canada is very quiet, but he is nice and innocent."

"Would you, uh… would you ever consider being friends with my brother?"

"Yes." Russia let out a small smile. "But he never talks to me. I don't know if he likes me or cares about me, so I think that he does not want to be my friend."

With my fingers squeezing each other, I pressed my hands together. My muscles were tensing as I felt how close the truth was to being spilt out. Words rested on my tongue, ready to be said. I quivered, hoping that the blanket would cover it, as I felt the weight of many possible consequences on my shoulders.

"America," Russia said suddenly. "Do you think Canada is afraid of me? I was thinking this because… we used to fight a lot, and he was close to you. He would listen to you about everything you said about me, about the Soviet Union, all that happened in the last century… He might think that without you around, I would threaten or hurt him."

"Oh…"

I hesitated, unsure of what to say because if I thought back, that was how I had felt. It had been easy to become friends with him because Russia had believed me to have America's strength, so he had not tried to scare or bend me to his will. As myself though, it would have been easier for him to intimidate me.

"But if he was your friend, like I am," I went on. "Would you be happy?"

"Of course. I want to have many good friends."

"And if you had to choose between being friends with me or him, who would you choose?"

Russia smiled. "What a strange question you ask me! Why do you want me to chose? Would you be jealous if I tried to be his friend? Because I would be happier if you helped me instead."

When I looked over the ignorance on his face, I squirmed. I could not stand these misinterpretations. My heart cried to take all the credit for how well I had treated him. I was his friend, and although I had accepted before that Russia would continue on as America's friend after he was cured… my entire being now refused that future.

Yesterday did not matter anymore. After all he had just said, I realized what Russia had meant with his threats. It was if I had been faking the friendship only, to spy on him for selfish reasons. But, perhaps he would not be angry with a reveal, as long as I was sincere about our friendship.

"R-Russia… I care about you and everything we've done… so I don't want to lie to you."

He paused, blinking and catching on to the serious mood that I had just lay between us.

"What is it?" His smile dropped and his expression became loose, ready to be molded into any possible emotion.

"I am your friend. But, there is something…"

"What? Did I do something?"

"No… I mean, we all lied to you today. About the zombie… and I can't take it anymore, lying to you I mean."

Russia's eyebrows wrinkled, but he stayed quiet, watching me with beseeching eyes.

"That body is no ordinary person. It's a nation… a severely injured nation who we are trying to heal."

He asked, "Is it Canada?"

I quivered and went so utterly weak right then, when I realized that I had to correct him. Those eyes that watched me still believed that I was someone who I was not.

"N-no… it's… it's America."

I flinched, but he hadn't reacted yet. He turned his head, looking me up from my eyes, to hip, then eyes again.

"What is this joke?" he whispered. He was confused, but the tone of his voice suggested that he was taking me seriously, and did not think that I was joking.

"I am not America…" I gulped. "I… I am Canada."

Russia went silent. For so long he did not speak that I began to grow fearful.

 _Oh no, this was a horrible idea, wasn't it? Why didn't I think this through more?_

"It-it's a disguise…" I whispered, my words brittle and shaky. "The eyes and…"

"Show me," he uttered, his words the opposite of mine, hard and resolute. There was no room for argument.

I jolted from the drop in his tone. I stood up, trembling, and I skittered off to the bathroom. I saw my own frightened and wide eyes in the mirror as I removed each contact. To see my own eye colour returned on my face brought back a feeling of helplessness. To wash out, dry, and fluff out my hair however, made me grow even more apprehensive.

My regular glasses were put on before I stepped back out and padded back to Russia on the couch. I crossed my arms and held onto them, feeling so skinny and weak now. The moment I came into sight of him, I saw him glaring over at me. I held onto myself tighter, but came closer.

I sat down next to him and looked away. His eyes bored into me, and in my peripheral vision, I noticed him scrutinizing my hair.

"You cut your hair," Russia stated. "And you bought something for your eyes."

I swallowed, and nodded slowly. I was still shaking from head to toe, and I knew that it was visible.

"You can talk just like him," Russia continued. His eyes still flicked over the changes I had made to my appearance. "But you never acted really like him. I liked that, but if America is dead… then none of it was real. He still does not care about me."

With a hoarse voice, I whispered, "I'm sorry."

"How long?" he muttered. I knew what he meant.

"S-since August…"

"Then all of it was you." Still, Russia glared. "So then, when he comes back, he will hate me like before."

"I wanted to change his mind…" I whimpered, still quaking from his continued monotone and low voice. "After..."

"So, Canada." Russia whipped himself to the side and slid close to me. "You are afraid of me. Why?"

"Y-you're mad… I lied to you for so long…"

"I thought you said you were my friend. Why are you scared?"

"You are s-so angry… and you said th-that if I-"

Russia repeated, "Why are you scared?"

I went silent.

"You think that I will hurt you now."

I glimpsed one of his hands reaching behind me. I slammed my eyes shut, expecting him to take me by the neck. Something touched me there, but it was soft. A blanket. I peeked towards Russia as he adjusted my blanket around me like I had for him.

"R-Russia?" I inhaled.

"Poor Canada, so innocent…" Russia slid even closer to me. "You misunderstand. I am not angry at you, but at America. He never did anything for me, but when you were in his place and had his power, you did so much for me. America could have done it at anytime, but he never did."

He rubbed my back and tilted his head, looking into my dampened, purple eyes with his own.

"I was friends with America since August, but when I was, I was bothered by the things he did to me in the past," Russia admitted. "Now that I know that it is you… I like you more, Canada. I am disappointed that America still hates me, but you… You are a better friend to have because you have not hurt me like America has."

Wrapped up in the blanket, Russia carefully pulled me into him. The hug seemed different than before. Some of the stiffness had faded away, and it was much more gentle. From it, I knew how hard he was trying not to hurt me.

"Canada… poor Canada. You are so scared and stressed, and it is America's fault. He made you have those nightmares, and it is his fault that you watched Britain's pain. America has made my friend suffer so much, and for this I will not forgive him."

He brought me even closer than he allowed me, as America, to come before. I curled up and put my head against his chest while his arms closed themselves up tighter, leaving no space. As warmth blossomed within, all my shaking faded away. I had been right about him. Never had I needed to doubt him, because I knew how he felt with the comfort he gave me now.

Russia stroked my ungelled hair then set his cheek against it. Now the hug had become the longest that I had ever had with him.

"And I will be unhappy with Britain and France, if they become angry that you told me," Russia uttered. "You are very good, for telling me the truth. They are bad for always lying to you and for letting you be unsafe."

The words were not as important as the peace I felt in this honest hug. I remembered how I had enjoyed his comfort back at his place, but it was incomparable to the feeling I possessed now. I nuzzled against him, wiping away a tear on his shirt that had squeezed out. Pleased, Russia sighed.

"You kept my things," he murmured.

"Those cards?"

"Yes. You are very nice."

Russia started to let go, but it was not as sudden as before. He took the time to place me back where I had been before, then he fixed his own scarf.

"There should be no more lies," Russia said. "I cannot stand that they are lying to you, Canada. You do not deserve to be lied to."

"I can't make them tell me," I exhaled. "And I would never threaten them into making them do it. I don't want them to be hurt."

"I forget. What is the secret they are keeping about again?"

"They won't talk about the original nation that died, who Britain healed. Someone that burned, a friend of his…"

"And France was there?" Russia clarified.

"Yes."

"How long ago?"

I replied, "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"They don't want to reveal the identity of the person. So, they won't say anything like the place, time, name…"

Russia dipped his head and furrowed his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because the person does not remember. They are afraid of someone telling them, and they don't even trust me to know… France and Britain promised each other to never speak of the first victim."

Russia looked up. His eyes were shimmering moons of vivid colour, artistic shades of violet and lighter purple ringing the obsidian black pupil. They were magnificently beautiful, but I did not understand the sorrow reflected in them.

"Russia?"

His hand reached out and held the back of my head. His fingers ran down my hair, combing so carefully down to my nape. I enjoyed the touch, but I was confused by why he had decided to start this.

Russia spoke before I could ask.

"Oh, Canada. Are you too stressed, or too afraid to even think it?"

"What?" I whispered.

The mournful and dazzling eyes fell closed.

"Canada," he breathed, still soft and patient. "Haven't you ever considered that Britain and France won't tell you anything because _you_ might just be the first victim?"


	13. Chapter 13

Flashes of wood filled my mind, until I recognized them to be the dark planks of the walls and floor of an old, rustic home. I had been here so often, yet still I did not know whose house this was. Through the window, I saw the field of corn and the forest that isolated the house from sight, and I finally wondered, why I was alone in a home far from others.

In my dreams of before, I had assumed myself to be alone. Now, however, I heard footsteps around me. The sound of their journeys across the floor indicated that the owners of the footsteps were heavier than me, but whenever I looked behind me, I only saw blurry ghosts of those I could not yet recognize.

 _Who is there?_

I felt no fear of them. Instead, I wandered through the living room again, as I had done many times before, despite their presences. The inside remained peaceful, but for the first time, I regarded the small objects strewn about the room with careful intent. The roses that I had approached in the first dream were still full of vibrant life and were as always, bright, red, and harmless in this room of timber. Just like it had been in that dream, I was drawn toward them without conscious thought.

I touched the petals and felt their familiar texture, but now I noticed my own hand that caressed them. The roses were grand and powerful, in comparison to my hand, or perhaps, it was only my hand that was small and fragile. I had not noticed before, but everything in this room was bigger than they would normally be. The table and chairs were high, and instead of walking slow, I realized that my legs had only been short.

But the roses. They were so perfect and finely trimmed, and only one word could fill my mind when I regarded them now.

 _France_.

When I remembered the word, the ghosts had solidified. The footsteps became people, and I could now see France and Britain, wandering through the house and so much taller than me. There was no doubt now that this was a memory from my childhood. Before it could proceed any further, hands jostled me by the shoulders.

In a blink, everything was gone and Russia's face filled my sight. The senses of the real world returned, and I felt my own body beginning to shake again. I heard nothing else but my own wavering breath for a moment, and smelled only our clean clothes and the cleaner that I had used on the floor.

His hands melted over my shoulders and glided over the bumps of my bones. He tried to look into my eyes, but I dropped them as they watered. When I hadn't said anything, Russia prompted me.

"You made a strange face," he said. "Did you remember something?"

"I-I don't know… I think I was there but… I don't know if it was me. All I saw was the house of my dreams… and nothing else that I hadn't seen before."

Russia murmured, "Then you were trying to remember from the start."

"Maybe but… it isn't much at all. I don't know. I'm alive there."

"This memory could be something after," Russia said. "Maybe you can try thinking of something before?"

I stopped shaking. "I'll try."

My hands rested over my head and I slid my cold fingers through my hair. My fingertips pressed into my skull, but no particular memory arose. I scrunched up my face, although it was difficult to search for a memory when I had no concept of when it had taken place. I waited for images to appear, but all I saw was black.

"I don't see anything," I exhaled. "I don't remember…"

"Nothing?" Russia hummed. "But if you died, you would not see anything. You would have no eyes."

I twitched. His words disturbed me to the core, making me question if my mind was only drawing a blank, or if the blackness that I saw was a true memory.

"What is in the dark that you are seeing?" he asked.

I closed my eyes. The light from the room made me see an orange hue instead of darkness. I ignored it and thought back to the house, to the time that came before that memory. The dark returned, manifesting itself as an experience without sight, sound, taste, touch, or smell. It seemed to be eternal, but then Russia's question echoed in my mind.

 _What is in the dark?_

I felt something. Sickness- a kind of sickness that I had never felt before. It sucked everything away until I felt so thin. Yes, I could feel myself, light and emaciated, but I felt no hunger of famine. There was no hunger, yet there was another feeling of incompleteness. I wanted and I needed, but I could not think of what.

Russia's voice crept into the vision. "Do not be afraid, Canada. You do not need to do the shaking."

I felt his hands on my arms, then continued searching for rest of the memory.

There was something far away. I felt a pulling in my spine, but I could not move myself closer to it. It came to me instead, and it touched my sick skin. There was some calm, and I did not want so much anymore. I needed something from it, but I did not want to take anything from it.

There was a second thing. _What thing?_ It was hard to describe, but they were warm, although I could not feel that they were warm. They seemed warm however, and fresh, like blooming flowers in spring. I wanted the freshness and the warmth, but not so much.

Yet.

Russia's hands clenched me. It became a bit uncomfortable, but it kept me from diving too deep into the memory. In holding my arms, I could feel my real, thick, and healthy arms that were not toothpick-thin and rotted like those in the memory. I was alive; the past was no more.

The memory continued on, on unstoppable roll of film behind my eyes. Eventually, as the presences came and left, I grew more desperate. The need grew larger, and it was a monstrous need, twitching and snapping its fangs within its cage. I felt my feet touching a flat surface, although my feet had never felt like this before. Peeling and incredibly small, yet somehow they took me across the floor closer to the warmth and freshness.

There was only one near me. The other was a faint pulse somewhere away. It did not matter, however, when I only needed one. I found the presence and fell over it. Under me, it pushed and writhed; those were hands which were smacking against my illness, causing more pieces of me to fall away. I felt my hands too now, skinny and tearing at the presence. Strips of the warm freshness came off. So utterly warm. I placed each piece over where I had withered away, feeling so full in those layered spots.

But it wasn't enough. More I took, although weak sounds were drumming in my ears. I could not hear well, nevertheless, there was a distant screaming that my ears could detect. The memory had not cared. I bit into the presence, and liquid warmth drained into me. Yes, this I had needed. There had not been enough of this warmth within me.

I pawed and found a new piece. I wanted. I needed. When it had been torn free, I knew were it would fit in me. The other presence was near, but I did not care. The warmth and freshness were mine and the presence below me could not escape.

"Shh-shh…" Russia's hand relaxed and ran over my back. "Do not be scared. It is over now."

But the memory was not over. One new piece snapped into place, then, the darkness exploded away and I could see again. Red was everywhere in this dim room, over the sheets, pillows, and splattered on the wall and floor. Sprawled out barely pawing against me now, was Britain. His scarlet-streaked hand covered an eye- his missing eye, and on that forearm, skin had been scraped away. I saw his bright muscle, oozing and increasing the amount of red.

Someone grabbed me and tried to pull me away, but I had wanted the red. There was already a meaty bite mark highlighted on the muscle by the shoulder of the arm that he bent over his head. That was were I had been draining him before.

 _Stop!_ My thoughts shrieked over the memory.

I could not hear well, but I saw Britain's mouth snapping open and closed in his screeches of fear and pain. His other hand pushed vainly against me, but I saw my own hands, digging and prying at the exposed skin of his chest. His shirt was torn into bloody tatters once I became certain that the greatest of warmths and fresh things were hiding within him.

 _Stop! No! No! Stop!_

There was no stopping this memory. I bit into the chest as I ripped away skin and muscles, swallowing the hot blood. I squirmed and fought against the memory, only to feel arms locking mine to my sides. Intense fear overcame me to be restrained as I fought frantically to stop the monster. Helpless, I screamed with all of my might, only to realize the rawness of my throat that had already been there.

I had been screaming for longer than I had known.

I saw Britain's rib bones and I tried to grab them, but then the memory came to an abrupt halt. There was a very quiet bang, and then firing pain. A hot pain that ripped through my sick body, again and again. Until I collapsed into the red I had created, no longer able to move, and never to see again.

The dark returned, and the presences came and went. I felt utter pain, but then no more. I could not move and could not react to the need, and for a very long time, I starved alone with the most unbearable and tormenting pain inside me. Trapped, immobile, unable to produce the smallest of sounds. I twitched in the dark, and felt the lumps of my own detached limbs around me.

I snivelled and trembled, just as the senses of the present time arrived back to me. I heard yelling and banging, which had not been the state of the world that I had left. I came into consciousness confused, but soon became aware of the situation.

Russia was no longer touching me. I searched for him and found him standing in front of me, bristling before France and Britain.

"I did not hurt him," he muttered.

Britain and France tried to get past him, but Russia moved fast and blocked them. I saw the side of his face, noticing anger drawn over it and directed towards them.

"Why did he scream?" Britain cried. "Answer me!"

They were so frightened for my sake. In their eyes, I saw emotional blindness: an utter distrust for Russia and an illogical desire for vengeance that did not need to be fulfilled. They believed that he had hurt me and made me scream, and could see no other reality but that, despite Russia's protests.

I rose, tears spilling from my eyes, to grab Russia and pull him sitting back beside me. I held and dove into him, my back shielding him from whatever harm would come to him. The yelling ended abruptly, and France whispered to Britain, "He's not wearing his disguise. Look."

I knew they were staring, but I did not look at them while I shook violently and clung to Russia. My lungs were jolting in a spasmodic manner, preventing me from breathing. In terror, I begged silently for someone to help me and to calm my muscles. Russia held me tightly without a word urging him to, trying to ease me.

The lingering images of the memories still distressed me. I sobbed and collapsed, limp and struggling to breathe. Russia dragged off my glasses and set them on the table, relieving me of the barrier between us. Russia said nothing, and did not push me off no matter how clingy I became. He did not care about the tears I smeared against his shirt now with the lack of glasses, or how loud I sniffed and wailed. He tried to shush me, over and over, as long as it would take until I truly heard him.

"Canada," Russia whispered into my ear. "It is over. Everyone is okay."

With a wavering voice, Britain breathed at last, "Wh-what happened?"

The comfy platform under my ear moved. Russia sat up stiff and straight to address the two of them, with a noticeably aggressive bite in his tone.

"Why did you not tell him before?" Russia uttered. "Now he became knowing of this in the worst time. You could have told him a long time ago, but now he is more stressed than he needed to be."

France gasped, "Do you mean to say-"

Russia said, "He remembers."

"What?" Britain cried shrilly. "How?"

"It was not hard to figure out," Russia muttered. "You were the suspicious ones. It was only hard for Canada to be realizing the truth, because everything made him so stressed. But now he thought of the thing his brain did not want to, and it hurt him."

I could not speak with the agony of my lungs and my neck. I shuddered and whined, but heard all that was said. I did not want Russia to be so hostile towards them, but his points were valid. On a normal day, this discovery would have been easier. After months of stress, fear, and depression, however, the memories had landed a powerful blow upon me.

At that moment, it felt impossible to stand alone. I needed someone to take care of me. I did not want to be strong anymore; someone had to protect me, but Britain and France had failed me. I attached myself to Russia, for it did not matter to me that Britain and France were watching.

"So he knows…" Britain moaned. "No… no, Canada was never supposed to know…"

Russia reached away and took the Canadian flag blanket. He wrapped it over my front and his, establishing a fluffy layer between us. I assumed it made Russia feel more comfortable with my behaviour, but I enjoyed the addition in any case. My extremities were becoming so cold, but now I could curl in my fingers and warm them.

"Russia," Britain continued in a feather-brushed voice. "You aren't angry at him, are you? I mean, when he told you that he was not America."

"No. Canada is my best friend." Russia ruffled my hair. "He was so kind to me, and even when I was angry or scared, he was always good. I will do anything to make him happy again."

With the blanket covering him, he leaned against a pillow pressed up to the arm of the couch. I saw him through flooded eyes, then closed them and dove down, burrowing into the solid warmth. Russia murmured to me, his words gentler than I could have imagined, and so for some moments, I cried more profusely. But he remained all so comforting, and I sank, falling into his hold without any concept of caution.

Russia whispered. "Kind Canada… So innocent. You are innocent and do not deserve this."

He brushed at the tears slipping from my eyes, trying to dry them although they came out so fast. They crashed into his moving thumbs and he gave up, putting his hands onto my back. I felt them sliding over my tense muscles, pressing and circling to relax me. And while my body did loosen up, the sorrow overtook me. I sobbed into Russia, limp and twitching, and he shifted up to let me come closer.

" _We should leave_ ," France was heard whispering to Britain.

Britain did not protest, understanding that they had no role to play now. There was nothing they could say or do to comfort me. Later, they could see me, but not now. For the first time, they understood Russia's loyalty and intentions, knowing that he was the best and the only one who could care for me now.

The door clicked shut when they left. I felt a relief in their absence, and Russia seemed to calm down in our privacy. The targets of his anger had departed, and now he was left with me.

"Think of everything and cry now," he murmured. "Cry until there is nothing else to cry about, yes, Canada? Can you do it? I will be here."

And so I thought back to the memories again. So fresh they were that I was shocked as profoundly as the first time. Russia placed his hands over my ears, warming them and holding my head. I wailed and forgot about how loud I was, since Russia did not mind it. He only encouraged me to be louder, touching my side and insisting, "Let everything leave you now."

Awful sounds left me: a song of sobs, moans, and screams. The volume of which numbed my ears to anything else; I did not hear the door or footsteps open again, but someone must have come in, since Russia had gained possession of a bag and a box of tissues.

"Here." He nudged me with a tissue and opened up the bag beside his hip on the cushion. I accepted it, relieved to blow my nose at last. Now, my sniffles lessened and I did not feel so messy. Naturally, my continued mewling and crying filled my nose again, but Russia became accustomed to providing me a tissue whenever I raised my head.

"What happened?" Russia prodded carefully, sweeping his hands over the ribs of my back.

I could not say a word. My heated throat released a whine, so he dipped his head and sighed, "When you can, tell me. It will help you."

The routine continued for a long while still. As time passed by, my crying grew quieter, although my shaking remained just as violent. I blew my nose and lay my face back into his chest. I let Russia touch my back, rubbing around the bottom of my shoulder blades were they ached.

So wonderful it felt, when I could sense his caring being expressed in each skilled caress. My hands curled by my own face and I choked into Russia, but he stroked my hair and shushed me. He was so patient, but I had never observed patience within him before towards others.

I had seen him interacting with smaller nations with irritation, and to powerful ones with antipathy. Russia did not like to waste time, but to rather get to a point quickly. He abhorred compromise, believing that someone was always right and that someone was always wrong. I comprehended his distaste for America, Britain, and France, and that I had transcended his normal treatment of other nations.

Unintentionally following the same track of my thoughts, Russia said, "You are unique, Canada. So many think you are like America and not as special, so they forget you. But I think that you are _much_ more special than America and the others. I will think this even if no one else will."

Minute-by-minute, my movements became smaller. Tears leaked from my eyes and I kept using up the tissues, but soon I would be able to voice at least a few words. He waited and continued massaging and petting me, until I was ready.

It took a long time to tell him the details of my memory. After each sentence or a half, I kept breaking out into silent hiccups or sobbing anew altogether. Russia hugged me when I spoke, helping me with the words I stuttered on. I was given enough time to go over each chunk of the memory, until the shock of it faded away and it became of light as other tragic occurrences.

"Because everything is okay now, with France and Britain..." Russia whispered, "the pain will go away. Hmm… Well, no matter what, I will make sure that you forget the pain even if the memory is yours forever."

His bent legs pulled up and in, becoming triangles that confined me on either side. I was reminded of how I had held Britain so close and carefully to me before, when he had broken down when we had officially lost America. I realized that he must have felt like I did now, enclosed by the warmth of a larger person. I felt utterly safe here. Protected, and comforted by hands that could be both strong and gentle for my cause.

When I had finished the memory, I turned over my head and waited for my tears to slip out from my eyes on their own. After they had, I could make out a clock across the way on a stand. Two and a half hours had already passed since I had been watching Soviet cartoons with Russia.

Since I had quieted down significantly, Russia knew that I would hear him.

"Canada," he told me. "You do not deserve to be sad."

I shifted my hands back up near my face again.

"You make me sad to see you sad," Russia whispered. "I understand what you were talking about before."

A whimper was emitted from me. Russia sighed and stroked my hair, then continued speaking.

"I feel this because you were kind to me. Ahh… Kindness can be cruel, _da_?"

He lay both his hands back onto my ears and cheeks. His thumbs grazed under my eyes, and they found only few fresh tears now. It was easy to keep up to the rate in which they fell, so his hands stayed and dried every tear that came.

"I would do anything to save you from this." Russia pressed in a fleeing tear. "Anything in the world, so that nothing would hurt innocent Canada."

Even after I had stopped crying, Russia held me for a little longer. I was the one to pull away, to finally look at Russia's face after all this time. Under his eyes and to his cheeks, I noticed fading red streaks. I blinked in surprise, but they remained printed on his face like paint.

"R-Russia… were you crying?" I gasped.

"A little," he admitted. "Because I felt your sadness."

"I didn't know… I'm sorry…"

"I do not mind."

I sat and threw my legs over the side of the couch. Russia put the blanket back and copied my position, although he stared at the used cups that remained on the table.

He asked, "What do you want to do now?"

"I'm not sure… I still haven't remembered dying… but I want to know more. I burned, but why? I feel like I should know now, just to get it all over with."

Russia stood up and started to back up to the doors to America's side. "Let us talk to them then. If you remember and you are scared, I will be here, okay? But yes, it is important to know everything."

I went with Russia through the unlocked door. Again, they could not be found in the living room, but I went up to the basement door and knew instantly that they were inside. I carefully checked that the lock was unturned, and that I heard their voices below.

I opened the door that revealed the stained stairs which led down to the lighted basement. They heard me and paused what they were doing. France called up, "You shouldn't come down right now, Canada! We're… You know."

"J-just that, right?" I responded, making no move down the stairs. "Please don't… chop him up."

"It's not necessary right now," Britain said. "But it will be later."

He was being noticeably honest now. To imagine that in the future, however, that they would cut up America like any other body, frightened me. I faltered, unsure if I was strong enough to ask what I had been meant to.

Russia proclaimed, "Canada has some questions for you. We will talk when you are done!"

Russia took me by the arm and led me to America's couch. There, we sat and waited for their return. It was not long before they came upstairs and washed their hands and knives. Then, they broke off and sat in armchairs, both looking across and towards me. Their faces were slightly scrunched, already dreading what they were obligated to say.

"So you remember…" France sighed. "Oh, I'm so sorry… I regret our actions so much, and I would have never took part in it if I had known that it would hurt you."

"H-huh?"

Britain murmured, "The guilt is ours… I am sorry that you became a victim of our mistakes."

I squeaked, "Are you saying that my death was- was _your_ fault?"

Their mouths fell closed and they observed me with confusion.

Russia explained, "Canada does not remember this part yet. He is not remembering how he died."

"We're too far to go back," Britain sighed, a gust of sorrow escaping his legs. "I will tell him the truth. Canada… You know well how Europeans treated the Native People of your country. It was our fault for not being considerate of how it would affect you. We loved you, but we were foolish. A fire had been started in a settlement, but none of us had expected that you would have been playing in one of them. I can't be sure whose fault it was, but we must both take responsibility for the horrendous things that we have done in your country."

Britain dipped his head and turned it away. He grimaced and closed his eyes, but France picked up from where he had left off.

"We would have never been able to recognize you… if it weren't for that bear that always followed you around. I saw him scratching at the ashes of where the birchbark houses had been. There… there was a child's body. One that had been inside and had gotten stuck underneath... And when that bear refused to leave it, I knew. It was my sweet, little Canada…"

" _My_ Canada…" Britain said, "who our own battles and skirmishes had harmed. We realized then, just how destructive we had been. For a time, we needed to tone down our distaste for each other. If there was one thing in common between me and France back then, it was that we both loved you."

Russia held my knee and leaned in close, concerned by my silence. "Are you okay?"

Something was coming back to me. Everyone went silent and I felt France's and Britain's eyes boring into me. I bought up my legs and hugged them, quivering as my vision was replaced with orange and cinder. I shook my head and closed my eyes, a violent shiver running down my spine as sounds reached me. There were vicious crackles above me, then I saw the orange collapse down onto me.

I had been aware of the heat and thickness of the air before, but then every nerve of my body sparked into indescribable agony. I shrieked curtly and kicked out, widening my eyes and trying to remember where I was now.

I was too weak alone. Russia hugged me and let me hide my face into him as I returned to the memory. I jolted when I recalled the pain, but he held me tighter and reminded me that it was over. My tears and whimpers were here again, but the memory lost its shocking strength when I replayed it in Russia's warmth.

I sniffed and rubbed away my tears, slipping away from Russia and looking back to them.

"So then you tried t-to bury me," I whispered. "But I moved..."

"Yes." Britain still cringed along with France after seeing my suffering. "France wrapped you in a blanket and showed you to me. The bear had followed him all that way, so I had understood without France needing to explain. We were going to bury you, but then you moved, and I was afraid of what would happen if anyone else had seen you. People were so religious, you know… so we took you somewhere where we could figure out how to cure you in peace."

"I saw a house," I murmured. "Some corn and a forest…"

"Yes… that's it," he conceded. "We kept you in the attic. Later, it was a coffin in the ground, to keep you cold. But that was only after we had… done to you what we want to do with America."

France said, "Britain's tests healed you a little at times, but when he knew that the cure was ready, he threw it over you in the coffin. It was amazing to watch… He had cured everything at once, and there you were… our little Canada, blinking himself awake as though he had taken a long nap."

Tears ran down my cheeks. I covered my face and remembered then, a time when France had lifted me out of a hard place. It had felt like stone, but I had never seen what it had been. The memory included only a flash of France carrying me while other hands were caressing my face and hair. Then, I had been held for so long that I had fallen asleep again.

"That is everything," Britain sighed. "I mean, you know everything now."

Russia checked on me, rubbing my back and squeezing my shoulder for a reaction. I dropped my hands and tossed my head in his direction. He patted my face and raised my chin, trying to put me into better spirits.

"Are there any more questions?" Britain concluded.

"Yes, I have questions," Russia said. "How did America die?"

"According to Canada," Britain replied, so that I wouldn't have to, "America fell off a cliff."

"Okay. And how do you cure him?"

"So, I can only cure nations, just so you know. Now, I search for plants that can heal us. Each plant though, can only heal a certain thing. To create an effective potion, I have to put everything together and use it at once. That's why it's been taking so long, but I'm almost done. Only a few ingredients away."

Russia nodded slowly, understanding. He then inquired, "But why are you not doing this now?"

"Because... " Britain sighed, his words becoming more faint. "We want to chop off America's limbs so that Canada is safer, and we want to be the ones to do it so that he does not have to."

"I will do it," Russia smiled, far too eagerly for Britain's taste.

"Absolutely not! If you were the one to do it, America would end up hacked up to bits!"

France said, "We will do it, but when Canada is ready. It is a stressful and hard decision, of course."

Russia asked, "How dangerous is America? I still don't understand why he wants to hurt Canada."

"Not just Canada," Britain said. "And right now, you are the one that he would most like to get his hands on. He wants to cure himself, you see, and to do that, America would take parts of you and add them to himself. Essentially, your blood, organs, and skin. Whatever he needs to bring himself to life."

Russia widened his eyes. "When he went up the stairs to me, this is what he wanted?"

"America can sense where we are, although not regular people. He's started to be able to regain some feeling ability, so he can feel his own position and he can feel us, if he manages to get so close."

In finally understanding the questions that he had posed me, Russia raised his brows then lowered them. "So, he knows where I am now…"

France said, "America is looking in your direction right now, and trying his hardest to get up here, since you and all of us are so close to him. We're teasing him by being here."

"That's why we want to get on with the dismemberment," Britain sighed. "He is so damaged and rotten that his body heals faster and faster every time. Those shot wounds added to the ability, and those are nearly healed up themselves already."

"Oh my god," I breathed. "That's so fast…"

"Should we do it then?" France asked.

I tensed up and my lip trembled. Russia touched my back again and looked over me to them, pressing, "I think you should give him a break. This is too soon after you told him everything in bad time."

Britain took a moment to mirror the guilt on France's face, because both had been so anxious again and had ignored my stress. His face opened in surprise at a sudden thought. He gasped, "Wait, there was something else that I had not told you! Something that you will like. Two plants were near that house, but I did not go there yet since you wanted to follow me wherever I went. I was planning to just find them further south in America on my next trip, but I can just collect them now. It is likely that they are still there. Now, I still cannot use them until the potion is complete, but you will feel better, won't you?"

I straightened up and smiled. "You'll be done faster then?"

"Well… maybe not so much faster. Some days were shaved off, but it still comes down to the last two plants in Europe. I hope that this could serve as some good news to you, however."

I clasped my hands and felt the excitement clenching my nerves and shaking my muscles. I nodded with honest appreciation and insisted, "Oh, I really am happy to hear that… Just knowing that you are closer makes it all feel better."

Russia dropped his hand and pondered aloud, "What are these special plants like? I have many plants in my big home. Can I be helping in some way?"

"Usually," he answered, "they have a strange feeling. It takes experience to detect it and to ignore their effects. Invisibility, diversion… Some go underground so that they are hard to get near. Most live for a long time, and they don't seem to reproduce. They just appear… sort of like we do."

"Do they look very strange?" Russia asked.

"Not always. They can have unique colours, but most appear like normal plants."

"Okay, I understand," Russia said. "Then I do know what you are talking about. I have one plant like this at home."

Britain nearly leapt out from his chair in excitement, but then contained himself and sat back down. The shine of elation was in his eyes nevertheless, as he demanded, "What does it look like?"

"A fiery sunflower." Russia smiled. "The most beautiful sunflower that I have ever seen. And it has been mine for hundreds of years."

 _The most beautiful sunflower._

I had heard him say these words before. I thought back, searching for the memory of when I had heard it. It was not when I had been with him, but when I had listened to his voice during a Skype call.

It had been when Russia had been telling me a story to fall asleep. I had never properly heard the story, but I remembered that Russia had mentioned sunflowers and someone's death.

"The flower on your table!" I cried.

"Mmm." Russia kept smiling, but now the smile faced me. "You loved to look. I love looking at it too, but I wonder if it is good? I let a hungry person eat the seeds one time, but he died. I was afraid, so I never let anyone eat it after this."

"No, no," Britain replied, "that makes sense. It kills normal people when they enter their bodies. That is definitely something special… But you have no idea about what it does, do you?"

"No… but I know that it does not die. I mean from age or damage. The flower needs a little good soil and water, but it does not need so much. When I cut the flower in half, I have now two more beautiful flowers. I discovered this by accident."

"Two?" Britain blinked. "The separated half grows from the stem down?"

"It grows down, and it heals up." Russia nodded. "It is good for having a little indoor garden."

"You have many?" Britain gasped, his hands tightening their grips on the arms of the chair. "An-and they can grow stem down?"

"Yes… and yes to the other thing," Russia affirmed.

Britain looked so flustered with his excitement, as though he did not know where to put it. He stammered, "I-I've never _known_ any of these plants with these capabilities. Can-can you send me one? I must know what it does…"

"Okay," Russia agreed, although looked to me while saying this. "I will ask some people to take what is on my table. It will become a gift for America. They will be paid to take good care of my flower, and it will come here fast. I hope you can use it; my friend Canada will be very happy if you can."


	14. Chapter 14

It was getting late by the time that we had finished all discussion. France made a meal for everyone, then I was placed in the middle of a movie-watching therapy session. I sat on my couch with Russia and France at sides while Britain was in an armchair, although the entire time, it disheartened me to see him separated from us.

 _I can't be mad at him for not telling me everything_. _Poor Britain is working so hard and going through a lot too. I can't hurt him by being mad at him._

I wasn't really into the movie. In fact, I started feeling like I was growing sick of the concept in particular. It was my fallback activity during this whole experience for whenever I was with others. Movies were incredibly long, longer than I had ever remembered them to be, and my anxious mind was too aware of each second. Bored, and exhausted from the periods of potent crying, my head dropped and my eyes closed.

When France had noticed me falling asleep, everyone decided that it was best for me to go to bed. Then came the realization that there would have to be a separation among us. But there was no argument. We decided to open both doors and carry in one of America's couches, laying it down across from mine. As for the right to be with me, it was conceded to Russia, who had proven himself adequate.

Upon padding into my room, Russia saw Kumajiro on the bed. He fell onto the mattress, smiling and petting him immediately. Kumajiro leaned back, unsure, but Russia was already cooing to him.

"Oh, you look very sad. Come here!"

I dipped my head and gave Kumajiro a soft look of approval. He relaxed just as Russia dug his arms under him and lifted him up. Russia sat on the edge of the bed and snuggled Kumajiro; I saw the shock on his furry expression, but he ceased struggling when Russia cradled him and kissed behind his ear. He gave in to the Russia stroked his cheek and tickled under his chin.

Russia turned to me and asked, "Why is he here?"

"He always lives with me. He stays because Britain thought that it would be better to have someone else around, in case America came after me while I was sleeping."

"The bear does not want to be here." Russia buried his face into his fur. "It is difficult to explain what is happening to him."

"Well," I said, "he understands what we say, so he knows. I told him already…"

"Then it is worse." He hugged him. "Do you have someone you know would take care of him?"

"Yeah, I do…"

"Bear does not need to stay here to protect you. I can stay here until America is cured."

My eyes widened. "C-can you really stay that long?"

"I can," he replied. "I will try hard and I will do some convincing. It makes me happier to be here than at home."

"Would you really stay?"

Russia kissed Kumajiro again. "I want to. And now, I will be more happy to because this bear can go have more fun somewhere else."

"You're right," I sighed. "He's really so unlike himself… He's so gotten so quiet since things started getting serious, so now he usually just stays in my room. He would feel a lot better if I sent him away. He could play all he wanted to…"

"Then we can do this tomorrow," he confirmed, laying Kumajiro back down into the middle of the bed and smoothing out his fur.

I liked how he had said _we_. I knew where to go, but Russia had wanted to go with me. I smiled as I finally peeled back the blankets and slid into the bed.

I whispered, "Yes, we will."

Russia smiled back and slipped into the bed up to Kumajiro. He pet him until I regarded his throat, wondering again why he had his scarf on. As America, I had asked about why he slept with it on, but he had told me that he would not take it off. Now though, as Canada, I thought that maybe I could get a better reason.

"R-Russia… why do you feel like you have to wear your scarf to bed?"

"I wear it because you are here," Russia said. "But, you are Canada. I guess it is okay to take it off... You will be kind to me, _da_?"

Russia unwound his long scarf and folded it up. My eyes fell to his neck, and already from the front, I could see a cloth bandage covering it. Russia took this off too, revealing his normal skin, which was marked at the sides with scar tissue.

Russia put away the cloth, explaining in a low breath, "It is in case my scarf is pulled off…"

He turned just a tad to the side as he put the items away, allowing me better view of the ring scar on the back of his neck. I stared, then noticed that he was watching where my eyes were. I looked away, my cheeks burning red as I apologized.

"Sorry…" I whispered. "But… why do you cover them? I don't see anything embarrassing about them…"

Russia relaxed, softening his gaze and elaborating, "I don't want anyone thinking that I have a weak spot to attack. Also, I really love my scarf. I do not wear it at night, but I did because you were America. I was not ready to show him yet. But you will not hurt me, so it is okay if you see."

Russia properly settled in and lay his head down onto the pillow. He closed his eyes and murmured his goodnight, so I did the same before reaching out and turning off the light. I lay onto my back and began to think about the day, but it was harder to think about the horrific memories after hearing what Russia had just said. He would stay with me for a month, and he trusted me so much. Soon, his flower would come and possibly aid us, and if not, Britain was still going to grab two more ingredients.

Like this, I managed to fall asleep, but I knew that the nightmares were sure to come. I was shaken awake once, sobbing and sweating from a dream that I could not remember. I wandered away to change my soaked clothes, then I lay on a sheet over the moist spot that I had created.

Russia had fallen asleep again so soon after waking me. Unable to sleep, I could only listen to his gentle and slow breaths. I rolled over from one side to another, but could not find a way to return to sleep. I was a little afraid to. The tears and sweat had dried, but my heart had not stopped shaking. There was an awful weight in my stomach as I remembered the feeling the dream had given me, even if I couldn't remember the specifics.

I turned over and watched Russia's covered ribs rising and falling, then glanced at the darker spots on his neck, only to look away in guilt. Staring when he was not conscious was not polite either. Russia stirred on his own, and I rolled over so that he wouldn't notice that I had been watching him.

My movement was detected by him though, thus he woke and yawned, "You are awake, Canada?"

"I can't sleep," I sighed. "I don't feel tired at all."

"I understand. It is hard after all the things that happened yesterday. Many things happened quickly, yes? But if you cannot sleep, maybe you do not have to. Maybe you need more time."

"I should sleep now though…" I turned back towards him, gazing across the bed and into his eyes. "It would be better for me."

"You can sleep when you are exhausted. Do you want to do something else instead? We can play a game if you want."

"Oh no… you're trying to sleep and all."

"No." Russia sat up. "Let's do something fun. We can stay up for the night!"

He had decided, so I felt better about depriving him of sleep. I trailed Russia out of the room, but he paused in the hall and waited for me to take the lead.

"Oh, uh, we can play a video game," I suggested. "But, Britain and France are sleeping in my living room… I guess not."

"It sounds like a good idea. America must have everything, right? We can use his."

"Alright but, that's in his living room… Are you okay with that?"

"They cut him again. He will not be able to move."

We snuck down the hall, tiptoeing past where France and Britain slept, creeping through the door, and making it onto America's side without waking them. We both understood without saying it, that they would have disapproved if they had known.

I started up America's newest version of Xbox and checked the volume. Loud enough for us to hear, but not loud enough to be heard from my home, I selected a game that was not too violent or boring. Russia moved the coffee table, then we both sat on the floor.

"Do you know how to play this?" I asked.

Russia smiled, "Yes, this one I have played before."

"Okay, we'll start a new world then."

Russia was signed in as a guest after being given his own controller. We both crossed our legs, getting comfortable before diving into the game. In the beginning, my ears strained themselves in nervous apprehension, listening for any scratching or knocking on the basement door. Beside me, Russia seemed somewhat tense as well, likely remembering how he had been described as America's target.

The feeling faded after we had begun laughing. We were both not the most skilled of players, so both of us were prone to panic and death. We explored the maps and had one adventure after the other, never becoming bored. Russia did not seem to be tired at all, and I didn't feel tired either. I was glad to be staying up with Russia; it felt like a slumber party, where it was just us and no other worries.

Russia sighed, "It is very fun playing this game with you, Canada. I want to do more of this with you in the future."

"We have to now," I smiled back. "I've never really finished this game, and I would love to beat it with you. Maybe, if we don't finish it when you're here, or if you want to play again… America will let me use his Xbox again and use Xbox live. You have one, right?"

"Yes, I have this. This sounds very good."

We had not ceased concentrating on the screen. Time flew by without realization, and the darkness outside grew brighter and small birds began to chirp. This side of the house had remained in a state of calm for the entirety of our play session. When we packed it up and wandered back to my side, it was equally quiet.

France and Britain both stirred however, gazing at us in surprise as we entered from America's side. Britain shot up and demanded, "What were you doing over there?"

"Oh…" I rubbed at my aching eyes. "We stayed up playing Minecraft…"

"He could not sleep," Russia explained. "But I think we can sleep soon. First, we will take your bear to a safer place, yes, Canada? After breakfast."

"Yeah." Then I told them, "Russia's going to stay here until America is cured. So we thought it would be okay to…"

"It's no trouble," Britain said. "As long as you aren't alone."

With his approval, I felt at ease about our sneaking. After we had eaten, I drove out with Russia to drop off Kumajiro. He understood that he was going away, so in being in the car, he was already in better spirits. He hopped around the backseat and looked out the windows in excitement about where he was going.

I was not the only one to hug him goodbye. Russia held him after I had, then we left Kumajiro in his new and peaceful haven. When we were alone again in the car, the attention shifted back to me. Russia asked, "Are you tired, Canada?"

I could feel the depth of the rings under my eyes and the weakness of my limbs. I admitted my fatigue, and Russia revealed that he was also affected by jet lag. Once we came home, it was decided that we would nap in order to both recover.

"I think it will be harder to have the nightmares now, right?" Russia hummed. "You are very tired, and more time has passed."

"Yeah, and usually I feel safer during the day."

I let Russia change in my room while I changed in the bathroom. France caught me before I could enter my bedroom, telling me, "We wanted to collect the ingredients by that house but… if you want to go with Britain instead, he will wait."

I wondered if I would feel more closure from seeing the place where I had been kept. Surely, the isolated house was unaccompanied and dilapidated. Seeing it in ruins could make the memory seem more distant.

"I want to go see it, but I need to sleep a bit…"

"Okay, we just wanted to make sure."

France walked on and left me to turn back to my bedroom door. I pushed through it and shut it, seeing Russia already snuggled in and in sleeping position. I fell into my side and curled up under the blankets. Russia did not say anything this time. Exhausted from the night and morning, we slept directly.

I was fortunate when my sleep was without nightmares. The contents of the room lay in tranquility until many hours had passed, when we were woken up by a knock on the door. Russia and I drew ourselves up and stared at the door. I called out, "What is it?"

France responded, "There's some people here with the flower, but they will only give it to Russia."

"I am coming!" Russia called. He rushed to get proper clothes on, and I turned my back so that he could change. Russia hurried out into the hall, leaving me alone now to change myself.

I could still feel the sensitivity of my eyes, but the excitement from the flower's arrival drove away my fatigue. When ready, I scrambled out to America's side. There, I heard Russia on the porch, communicating in Russian with a pleased tone. I arrived just in time to see a group of utterly serious men, dressed in suits with a few wearing sunglasses. The atmosphere that came with their presences unsettled me, but after Russia had stepped back inside bearing his pot and magnificently coloured sunflower, the feeling within me was forgotten.

Russia set the pot into my hands in front of the men. He rubbed my arm and purred, "My friend, do you like my present?"

Knowing that he was making a point in front of the group, who were sure to report back to someone, I tried to look at Russia with amicable tenderness.

"Yes, thank you." I gazed over the petals of fire in front of my face, not needing to act to appear awed from them.

Russia spoke more to them, then waved and closed the door. Now, Britain dashed into sight and did not contain his rapture. He bolted to me and halted, reaching out and touching the petals. There was a difference from when I had seen the flower before, for now the black middle had sprouted many red-striped seeds. Britain now felt them, then plucked one for himself.

Protecting it in his palm, he proclaimed, "We have to test this immediately!"

Since he did not want to carry the pot with his one good arm, he pulled me along and into the kitchen. I set down the pot onto the counter, then he picked a few seeds and set them onto a cutting board. France helped him deshell them when it proved to be difficult for him, then they crushed the seeds carefully into a crumbly powder.

"This should be good," Britain decided.

They packed the small amount of powder into Britain's palm, then he led us toward the basement. Out of undeniable curiosity, we all followed him to see what would happen. Russia was the last in the line as we headed downstairs into the stale and cold basement. His footsteps seemed to become small and stiff, and when I looked back at him, I saw the tenseness of his muscles and the apprehension etched into his face. He must have been remembering how he had been described as a target. I wanted to hold onto him as I used to for Britain, so that he would feel better, but I didn't since I wasn't sure if he would allow it.

We all peeked out from behind Britain and found the corpse lying at the foot of the stairs. Although the arms and legs were useless, the head craned back and fixed us with hollow eyes and a hanging jaw. From where he was, Britain released the powder over the blasted shirt and torso, getting it into one of the closing holes.

Upon the contact with his flesh, we waited for something grand to happen. Me especially, and likely Russia too, since we had never seen anything like this before. I did not know how long it would take, but after a minute without action, Britain whirled around and began pushing us back up the stairs.

"Nothing," he muttered. "Either I need more for an effect, or it really won't help us here."

From the top of the stairs, Russia stared at America for a few extra seconds. Britain turned off the light and locked the door behind him, cutting the body out of sight. Russia drew away then, but I was sure that he still held the image in his head as he struggled to discern America in that black-muscled skeleton.

"We'll buy some dirt and flower pots," Britain decided. "If we really can produce more plants, then we might as well try finding out what it can do."

"Seeds come only one time in the month," Russia said.

Britain huffed and slapped his palm against his forehead. He groaned, "Then we won't have time to test it on him. But... it really should have worked if there was something that it could do to him. If some seeds were enough to kill a person, then clearly, they are quite potent on their own."

I murmured to him, "Then it doesn't work, Britain. But it's okay… You still know what to do to fix him, so you don't need this."

He gave in. "I know… I'm just disappointed is all… It's a bloody shame this plant that I've never even heard of did nothing for us."

"You can have the plant," Russia told him. "And one day you will find what it does."

Britain nodded, looking more relieved after his reassurance. There was no rush. It was now his everlasting gift from Russia.

"It is beautiful though," France added conclusively. "So if you don't want it, you could always give it to me instead..."

* * *

Everyone busied themselves with their own affairs for the rest of the day. Russia working here surprised me, but it showed how much he trusted me by using my Wi-Fi. He liked to sit beside me as well, for no other reason than to be there. We did not talk until late however, when I posed a question to him.

"I have to go to Ottawa in a few days. Do you want to come with me?"

Russia readily agreed with a smile. Soon, it was bed for us again, and I got to think about where I would take him. When I realized that I had forgotten to ask France and Britain, it was the first thing I did next morning. They had come out from America's basement again, but declined the offer.

"It's best that we stay here, to make sure that America doesn't get too strong while we're away," France said. "You enjoy your time with Russia."

This day passed again in calm. Britain sometimes seemed exhausted and feverish, but they assured me that his infection was fading away. To be sure that I believed them, I was given a glance at Britain's arm. The bones were supposedly fusing back together already, and the ferocious dark colours had lightened to red.

"He's healthy," France assured me. "He heals quickly."

They asked me if I wanted to go to the old home yet, and since there was no particular reason not to, I agreed.

"It's a little far, so you might have to stay in a hotel," France said, to which Britain nodded to. "So I could stay here and keep an eye on America."

"Should Russia stay with him?" I asked. "Just so France is not alone."

"Yes, let's tell Russia to stay back," Britain agreed. "But, Canada, make sure to tell him to behave himself. Russia might want to hurt America while he's like this."

I doubted that he would even go near him, since he was so nervous around the moving cadaver. Nevertheless, I explained the situation to him, and he complied to my wishes.

"I want to play more of the game when you come back," Russia had told me with a smile, his mood not at all soured. "Then soon we will have our own day in Ottawa."

It did not take long to pack myself into the car with Britain and enough necessities to last us for two days. Led by a GPS coordination, I drove us down the long stretches of road to a location that I was not familiar with. Britain read until his stomach could no longer take it, then it was only the music that occupied us. There was not much to talk about, but it was not as awkward as it had been back when I had driven with him to locate other plants.

Now that I knew and understood everything, anyways.

We stopped now and then for breaks and food, taking Subway and eating in the car in order to arrive before dark. I was beginning to get concerned about the time, since sunset came sooner in autumn, but Britain suddenly pointed at a forest which was revealed in coming over the crest of a hill.

"Park somewhere. I think we're here."

I did as I was told, then he stepped out and squeezed his eyes shut. Britain walked into the forest and inhaled deeply, before glancing back to me and opening his eyes.

"I sense the flowers. Let's get going."

We took our cellphones and clippers. I followed after Britain as he tracked down the source of his feeling, although I still could not sense what he could.

"Everything's changed," he murmured to me as we began pushing our way through the underbrush. "But I can find it."

"And the way back?"

"No, so let's try to remember the way. If all else fails, we can call for help."

As we wandered in further, I tried memorizing all the oddly shaped trees. Growing more worried that we would not find our way back, I started jabbing branches upright into the ground or I lay down stones or mushrooms, just to be more sure. Britain started helping me, approving of my idea without a word.

I was still highly paranoid though, afraid of getting lost in the forest at night and forced to stay in the house. The place began to become a symbol of horror to me, and as Britain assured me that we were almost there, I grew more anxious. Some irrational thoughts came back to me, and I imagined old blood stains that still marked the house, or other remnants of my rot.

"H-hey," I began. "After you ch-chopped me up… What happened to my limbs? I-I grew new ones, didn't I?"

"Yes… Those limbs…"

"Are they still there?"

"No. They disappeared… Nothing remained soon after you were healed."

I shivered. "N-nothing?"

"Physically, nothing. The only thing that remains are the memories, but we have plenty of those. They should not and cannot be allowed to mark us forever. That's why you're here." Britain tilted his head up to the path that we would soon create. "We're almost there."

I thought about what Russia had told me, about how I could desensitize myself to my memories so that the pain would fade. I recalled my age, understanding that Russia and Britain had lived so much longer than me and thus had experienced many other horrible memories.

 _But we cannot let something haunt us forever, because we live so long and that would be awful. Russia and Britain both understand what it takes to continue on._

I expected to see the corn appear suddenly through the trees. When no corn came, I realized how foolish that thought had been. This place had been forsaken by the world, and now the field was not but shaggy heather and young trees. Beyond it, the house was obvious in its rotted and sunken form, so easily spotted now that I was taller and the stalks in my dreams had been swept away by time.

"That's it…" Britain sighed.

We walked closer to the carcass of the house, my steps becoming shorter and shorter still. The image of my dreams grew hazier in the face of reality, when I saw how the welcoming home was no longer and would never be a home again. Its brightness in my memory darkened now, leaving this ominous building that did not show me an opened door, but a gaping mouth into the blackness within.

I stopped. Britain halted after a step and turned to me. He touched me with one hand, whispering, "What is it?"

"I don't know… I'm just afraid."

"There's nothing to be afraid of."

He led me up to the house, but I paused again, too frightened to enter. Britain turned on the flashlight on his phone, stepping in first and demonstrating that it was safe. I rushed in to his side, pressing in close as he turned in a circle and showed me the interior. There was absolutely nothing here that I recognized. All of the furniture was gone and the walls were moss-covered and water-damaged. The floor was covered with dirt and green growth in some places, then feces and feathers in other ones.

We walked deeper into the silent and chilled house. Goosebumps rose on my arms and I held Britain by his uninjured arm. I clung and pressed close, hindering our progress and keeping our movements slow, but felt better for his presence. We peeked into each rotted room before Britain took me closer to the entrance to reveal the stairs that had been concealed by the thick shadows.

"There was an upper level, but there was only one large room up there. The attic. That was where you were kept, but, I don't think we should try going up. I can tell just by looking at these stairs that they'll break if we do try."

I squeezed my middle with my other arm, trying to preserve the warmth left within me.

"I… don't remember what it looked like."

Britain sighed, "We locked it up so that you wouldn't play there. Due to our sensitivity… and because we never able to completely get rid of the stains in the wood…"

I shook. The light barely reached the top of the sagging staircase and revealed the dark, rotten door that was there. The door that was still closed.

I twitched and stepped back. "I -I want to leave now…"

Sensing my fear, Britain hushed me, "The stains will be gone now. Too much time has passed."

I nodded slowly. Britain started to escort me out regardless, now that we had seen everything that we could. The room still lingered in my mind however, the closed door overtaking my senses with ghostly tendrils seeping out from under the crack. It was full of secrets: a chilling darkness that had been hidden from the world. That room had been the original container of the most inexplicable, horrifying being to exist, as far as I was aware.

But it had seen so much. And as long as the room remained closed off, it felt as though there was still a corpse within… a small skeleton that waited alone with cobwebs in its eyes, waiting to be greeted. Waiting for a reason to move.

Britain hollered when I snatched his phone and raced back inside.

"Canada!"

I hurried up the stairs that dipped and groaned under my feet. I flew up to the door with wide eyes, halting, inhaling, and slamming my foot into the wood. My foot broke a hole through it. I struck again and again, gasping and imagining now that within the room, there was a skeleton rising to its feet. I hit the door higher, punching out the wood until a large opening had been made. In my mind, I could hear the bony feet shuffling through the dark, past the sounds produced from my blows to the door.

I imagined the footsteps so near me, and white arms rising and hanging so brightly against the dark. I burst through the opening I had made into the attic, leaping blindly into the realm of the monster. I spun in a circle and illuminated the room with the light, but no one was revealed.

There was a hole in the ceiling that filtered in some natural light and the faint breeze. The floor shone from what light struck it, and the chirps of some small birds penetrating the decayed prison. Everything was dark in its rot, but most was covered by seasons of leaves that had blown into the room. Here too, sprouts had begun to grow, overwhelming the rusted chains and the strings left of the old rope with life.

The true darkness had been dispersed in taking down the door. The secrets were no longer things locked away, but now open to the world to judge and forget. Now, all that was left was life, which overtook the past and carried away its sorrow and fear.

I returned downstairs carefully. Britain had been worried sick, but he relaxed when I was back within arm's reach.

"You were right," I sighed to him. "The stains are gone."

"I suppose this was the only way to feel better."

"Y-yeah…" I stammered, feeling awkward after my rash actions. I went outside with him now, but asked, "Just… could you show me the coffin too? I want to see it empty…"

"There is no coffin anymore. We destroyed it… There would be no coffin for you. We did not want to live with one existing." Britain walked me to the side of the house and pointed to the ground. "It was around here though, where we buried you."

I stared until I was satisfied. All fear of this place had left me, and now I could see this place differently. This house was no longer damned by its dark past; now, it was but a part of the forest and as neutral as the trees were.

"I remember being healed and walking around in there," I carried on. "How long did we stay?"

"We only lived here for a little while after you were cured, to clean up and take away our belongings, and to also make sure that you were truly healed."

"Okay…"

"Is there anything else you need to see?"

"No," I answered and exhaled with slow care. "I feel better now."

"Wonderful. Now let's find those plants and head back before it gets too dark."

* * *

We stayed in a hotel overnight and came back to a calm house. I had feared a bit that something would have happened to them, primarily Russia since America had wanted to attack him. All that arrived at the door were Russia's arms scooping me into a hug, and his voice that asked if I was alright after my experience. France reported only that he had sliced America's tendons again, otherwise, they had been safe.

Russia was eager to play videogames with me again, and I gladly did so. Out of curiosity, France and Britain watched us for a short while, but then left to take care of Britain's remaining infection. Our fingers clacked on buttons and our voices rose higher with our enthusiasm. Here, it was easy to forget the chilling touch of my memories when I was with Russia, whose playfulness and gentleness continued to surprise me.

I could forget to mind the danger in the basement, or at least, until we heard nails scraping on the basement door. We snapped our head in the direction of the door, still hearing the slow knocks and scratches emanating from behind it.

"Britain!" I called. "F-France!"

They rushed back in. I had turned off the game and was now stepping back with Russia. Rather, he was stepping back with me, trying to lead me away from the creature that put him ill at ease. France and Britain were grabbing knives and taking control of the situation, but I did not want to leave them completely. I was afraid to leave them alone, if America had recovered this much so fast.

When I moved forward, Russia came with me. We snuck in behind Britain and France at the top of the stairs as they grasped America by his rotten arms and dragged him down into the basement. Britain nudged the light switch on with his shoulder, then all were able to see how America tried to bite them, turning his head and weakly bringing his sliced jaw upwards. There was no force in it, and France ignored the teeth that gnawed his arm, unable to pull away any flesh.

Britain looked back at us once, then he and France pulled the body out of sight so that I couldn't see what they did next. I waited though, for any yells for help. Nothing came. They came back up with dark and foul-smelling juices over their arms, and foreign expressions on their faces. The light switch was nudged back off, but it was Russia who swiftly closed and locked the door after their departure.

"Everything's alright," Britain assured us in his smooth voice as he passed by. "You can keep playing. He won't be a problem again for a while now."

My heart settled, but I was no longer in the mood to be on this side. Russia came with me to play a different and new game on my own game system. Feeling safer here, we were able to relax until evening came, discussing occasionally in gentle tones, what we could do in Ottawa tomorrow.

To reconfirm, I asked France and Britain, "So none of you want to come with us?"

"No, no." Britain shook his head. "You know that America needs to be monitored. Besides, I have to dry out and crush the root we just got, so I might as well take care of that then add it into the potion. It takes about a day."

Russia was excited to pack a bag for the day, although he did not need much. We went to bed early since the drive to Ottawa would be long, although the fright in the evening brought back my nightmares of zombies. Russia woke me constantly, sighing in empathy when there seemed to be no end to them. When it became a ridiculous number, he dragged me into a sitting position without discussion and massaged my shoulders.

The tenseness faded from me, and at some point, I had collapsed into slumber. It was now a peaceful one, and the next time I woke was with the alarm. We both hustled to get ready, the night forgotten as we ate quickly then departed. In the car, Russia was nearly bouncing with excitement to have a lone adventure with me, although he would have to wait by himself during my meeting.

Or so I had thought. My phone rang halfway into the trip, which I put it onto speaker after seeing who it was. I informed him that Russia was listening, but it turned out not to matter, since it was an announcement that the meeting was cancelled. There were many apologies for the short notice, but I let it slide since I wanted to take Russia to Ottawa anyway.

After hanging up, I told Russia, "Now we have lots of time and we'll get there early… So maybe… you would like to have a tour of the Parliament?"

* * *

I preferred the day without the meeting. After exploring some parts of Ottawa, I went to a small shop with Russia that sold some Russian products. He was excited to make me try a certain non-alcoholic drink, so I bought it among other things that he recommended, before we began heading back early.

"So, what's so special about this drink?" I asked him.

"You like the maple syrup," he answered. "This drink is birch sap. I was wondering if you would like it although it is from another tree."

"Birch?" I smiled. "That does sound strange to me."

Russia opened it. I took the bottle to my lips and drank the clear liquid. I smacked my lips then passed it back, commenting, "It's alright."

Russia leaned in and smiled. "But it is not maple!"

I laughed. "Yeah, nothing can really beat maple."

We drank it all on the way back and ate other assorted Russian snacks. He was amused with my reactions, always smiling and bright-eyed. I forget to message the others when I was too entertained by the person beside me. When we arrived home, I then remembered that I had not told them that I was coming back early.

When I came through my door however, I was glad that I had not. A second after entering, I recognized the shriek of a chainsaw echoing from somewhere far away. It did not take much thought to know exactly where it was coming from and why.

I screeched, but those who could not hear me could not hear my vain screams to stop. The room zipped past me and suddenly there was America's door, slapping into me and crunching my nose. My hands forgot how to properly work the handle, and instead, my body fell into bestial panic. I threw myself at it with all of my strength, breaking the door off its hinges and sprinting off with blood leaking from my nose.

The door to the basement was hardly handled with any more care. As the final barrier, I attacked it with flailing slaps and punches until it gave in, swinging inwards and allowing the sound of the roaring chainsaw to rush upwards and over me.

I don't remember running down the stairs. Perhaps I had leapt down all of them at once, but my ankles stung as I whirled around the corner and saw them. Britain was holding down America and pulling one of America's arms out. France was the one wielding the chainsaw, and he was just a few centimetres away from letting its metal teeth rip through the scrawny shoulder.

No one could hear my cries against this. France shouted when I rammed into him, stumbling in surprise and spinning. The whining metal slashed open my shirt and effortlessly ripped a scratch diagonally across my chest from my ribs to my shoulder. With huge and horrified eyes, France frantically shut off the chainsaw then dropped it.

The cut was shallow, but they were both shocked by the red that lit up across my front. I gasped and glanced down, seeing my own bleeding chest heaving from my adrenaline and abrupt sprint. Already though, they had broken out of their shock to begin yelling at me.

"Canada! What were thinking?" France cried. "You could have gotten seriously hurt, jumping at me while I was holding that!"

I trembled and snapped my gaze away from the cut. Behind them, I could see the shovel against the wall. I had never put it there. They had brought it down, and the gun as well, although it was difficult to spot in its new post on one of the shelves. There were only two feelings that consumed me to see in seeing the weapons and the guilty positions that they were still locked in. The first was anger; the second and most prominent one was anguish.

"How could you!" I shrieked. "You waited until I was gone, and then-"

"It had to be done!" Britain hollered back. "I'm not leaving until it is!"

"I don't _want_ you to!" I wailed. "I told you, I told you- I can't bear it and I don't want you to do it! It's only a month… Please, why do you have to do this? He can feel everything! I remember how it felt when you did it to me, and it hurt so _much_! But he can't scream because you couldn't listen to him! Y-you two cut out his vocal cords so that you wouldn't feel bad! You're ly- _lying_ to yourselves! You don't want to think about how you're hurting him!"

France shot back, "We can't take the risk of something worse happening to you! America will understand. He will-"

Britain hopped off America and strode up to me. Despite his injury, there was complete authority in his voice, eyes, and posture. He pushed against my shoulder, a black hand print pressing into my shirt as he held me at a stiff distance.

"Get out. Now. You think you are being good by protecting your brother, but you are selfish! Haven't you once thought about how I feel, leaving you here with him? Why can't you understand how I worry about your _life_ while I'm away? I can't physically protect you! All I could do was keep you sane and make sure that you took the threat seriously!"

America shifted and rolled onto his side. His head flopped and his two orbits gazed over at us. It did not seem like he had the strength to lift himself up. My eyes flashed over the healing cuts from where his muscles had constantly been sliced. Baring my teeth, I stepped near and gestured to him, snapping my head back to Britain.

"You know that Russia will stay with me!" I yowled. "You know that I have a gun and that I am able to shoot him if needed! How can you look at him as he is now, and want to saw him into pieces? We have made him so weak, and now you want to rip America apart!"

France tried to step in. "Canada, don't go too close to him. You don't understand how fast he heals. Every day… haven't you noticed? We constantly have to go down to keep him in this state. If we didn't… Canada, you have no idea how powerful he is right now."

"That's right." Britain breathed out slowly and with tension. "He is as strong as his usual self. Perhaps stronger. This game of how fast he can heal and how fast we can cut him… It is too risky. Didn't you listen to what we said before? The more we hurt him, the more desperate he gets. It got a whole lot worse after you shot him. We have to do this."

My eyes now shook over America's form. He had pulled himself onto his hands and knees, now coming to a full stand. Britain tripped him and hopped back, now redirecting his efforts to pull me away from the corpse.

"He cannot hurt anyone…" His voice changed from a yell into a soothing whisper into my ear. "This is what he would want, Canada…"

The tears slipped from me, slapping the floor as I wavered and dug the heels of my palms into my eyes. I could feel that I was losing the fight, but every part of me did not want my brother to be treated like this. The idea of a freezer had once haunted me, but the pain that it had brought me was nothing to the reality that I faced now. Like a murder victim, America would be cut into grotesque pieces and stuffed away like a body to hide.

It was just so uncaring. The pain he would feel meant more to me than the risk of me being the one to get hurt.

Like a child struggling to walk, I lost my balance and feel to my knees, unable to rise again on my own. Bleeding, sobbing, I blocked out everything else. I knew America was by me; I could hear him and how the others constantly pushed him back. At his level, the scrapes of the floor were loud and close, but I was not so afraid. I remembered the time when he had wiggled lose, and how he had known it was me.

Russia was the one he wanted. I felt sure that it wasn't really me that he was trying to get to. The scraping kept coming back, but my body refused to move. France and Britain were huffing and gasping, and I could start to hear the worry in the quick sounds they made.

"There's just too many of us!" Britain snapped. "You two, get out of here now!"

There was Russia's hand on my back, trying to squeeze under my armpit so that he could yank me to my feet. So he had been here the entire time, quiet in the background. I pinched my arm and resisted, but Russia grabbed me and pulled me back. It was a little more rough than what I was used to, and from it I knew that he had been frightened to see me that close to America.

Russia looked away and hurried us to the stairs. I screamed and pulled against him, whipping my head back and crying, "Please don't! Please! There has to be another way- there has to-"

Britain wavered. There was a certain sorrowful shine in his eyes that indicated that he had thought of something, but his mind and heart were conflicted. Whatever it was, he said nothing. He would rather do what they had meant to do, before I had come home hours early to stop them.

America leapt up and they shoved him to the ground. As they struggled and kept him low, I bawled at Britain, "What did you think of? There is another way! There is!"

"Enough!" Britain cried. "Just leave-"

Russia had been busy tugging me up the first stair. He had seemed to be ignoring the entire matter, until France and Britain both screamed. True screams, without any words or any other emotion except for fear. America had bolted free from their grasps and skidded across the basement towards us.

I had seen it all since my head had already been directed towards them. His legs moved in a blur that I had never seen in life. America was so fast that I had barely any time to react before he was lunging at Russia with bared, orange teeth. And Russia had only heard the incredibly fast tapping across the floor, merely able to turn his head before America had pounced at him.

I did not think. I shoved Russia away and fell over him. America collapsed onto me, his thin fingers scratching and his teeth gnashing as he tried to get past me. I grabbed onto him tightly and rolled to the floor, crushing the spasmodic skeleton under my weight. America buckled and bridged, slipping his arms free from my hands and slapping at me.

The bones clacked against me and I saw his mouth opening and closing. Screaming. He was trying to scream his shrieks of awful desperation, but he could not make a sound. I understood the sickness, the emptiness, and the cold inside him that made him long for the warmth and freshness. I knew how he felt and why he was screaming for just someone to save him.

America was so strong. I fought against him, crying and whispering, "Stop, stop… I can't let you hurt him. Please… Britain will heal you. You don't need to… you don't…"

He could not hear me. America launched upwards and threw me back, but this time, he did not run with his freedom. Once I was flipped onto my back, the skeleton scrambled over me and sank its teeth into the meat by my neck. I shrieked and pushed, hearing everyone else yelling out my name and rushing to me.

Before anyone else could pry him off me, I could feel it. The tears kept raining down my face while I felt the vicious pulling of my blood into his body. He did not have a stomach, and so my blood leaked into his body and sank. Through some of the stitches, holes, and cuts, some of the blood was already slipping back out and dripping scarlet drops onto my chest.

I writhed once, but then the weight was gone. What followed was one horrible, crunching sound, and I rolled over to see America beside me, flailing and screaming silently as the shovel came down again.

We heard the bones crack again along with an awful wet sound. I saw Russia standing over America with flaming, merciless rage stamped into his face. He did not snarl or wrinkle his face, but it was the eyes that were horrifying, for it was where all the anger was contained. They were piercing like shards of glass, yet also frigid like the unforgiving depths of the icy ocean. The pupils constricted and the purple that I had once marveled over due to its uniqueness, had almost taken on another colour entirely.

America collapsed and did not move again, his arms now splayed out and his body as lifeless as the average corpse. Yet, the wrath did not leave Russia. He struck America again, the horrible sounds echoing throughout the basement anew. He raised back the shovel, but France and Britain tried to grab hold of it and him.

"Stop!" They shrieked in tune. Russia threw them off him with unrestrained aggression, their bodies striking the walls and leaving him free again. Russia smashed America with the shovel again. And again. His ribs split and poked out his chest. Juices and organs began to leak from the holes, the stitches, and all of the old injuries.

He was going too far. My stomach clenched in sickened horror as I watched America breaking apart more and more from each blow.

 _He's going to destroy him!_

Russia raised the shovel again.

America was still not moving.


	15. Chapter 15

"Stop!" I screeched. " _Russia_!"

Russia stopped in his tracks. His mask vanished and the shovel dropped, and the clangs from the impact echoed in the basement as he rushed to me. There were splatters of rot over his face. The mark of what he had done was plastered to his body, dripping off in chunks to the floor like he had come in soaked from a rainstorm. He seemed unconcerned by it as he glanced over the wound on my shoulder, the slash from the chainsaw, and even the drops of blood under my nose and over my knuckles.

But then he saw the horror and anger in the piercing glare that I directed at him. Russia flinched, confused, but then minded my wounds again with a troubled frown. He dropped down and scooped under me. I shoved weakly at his chest and hollered at him, slipping away and causing him to retract his arms.

I had not wanted America to experience pain. Russia had been there when I had argued with Britain and France, and yet, he had done more damage to him than they had ever intended to do. Russia skittered back to his feet, eyes wide from the aggression he faced from me. He was silent, swallowing, and eyes shone as he tried to understand how he had failed me.

The pain was a pulsing burn that contorted my face, but I managed to snap, "How could you do that, Russia? Why did you have to hurt him like that? You _knew_ I didn't want it! I tried so hard to spare him, and now-"

"Canada…" he whispered, bowing his head and trying to brush away the gore. It smeared, worsening. "He was hurting you…"

Britain pulled himself off the wall and growled, "All you had to do was get him off. Now look at what you've done! You've destroyed his insides and bones… Cutting off his limbs is one thing, but now America is going to become more dangerous than before!"

I flinched from his words, and moaned in pain. Britain pushed Russia aside, who let himself be moved away so that Britain and France could reach me. Before their hands touched me however, Russia had second thoughts and hurried back to jam his hands under me. I hissed and squirmed despite the pain, while trying to get myself away from the one who I felt had betrayed me.

"Let me go!" I pushed against him, but the impenetrable wall of his chest did not bend to my struggles. The continued efforts to shove sparked agony in my torn shoulder. I dropped my arms finally, gasping, and feeling the tear opening up even further as the arm dangled. Russia tossed the affected arm over my chest, before he ran up the stairs and fled the scene.

Russia raced right onto my side of the building, slipping into the kitchen and laying me down on the tiled floor. Towels were then hurried to me, and Russia grabbed a thick one to wrap around the bite mark that pumped out the most daunting amount of blood. He pressed down and held his hands in place just as Britain and France arrived, charging into the kitchen. Once they had caught sight of what he was doing, they held their protests and prioritized my injuries with him.

I lay upon the cold floor and became more aware of the pain that lit up all over my body. I gasped constantly and groaned, slamming my eyes shut and hardly noticing which hands belonged to who. France and Britain snagged some of the smaller towels from Russia's pile, wetting them and washing away the blood of my other injuries. They snipped off my filthy and ruined shirt, washing my skin with warm water, then busying themselves by pressing down on the long cut across my chest.

"Canada…" Russia's voice was low as he still focused on slowing the bleeding by my neck. "You are hurt for me. You put yourself in front of me, and now…"

I did not know what to say, so I clenched my jaw and refused to meet his eyes. The emotional stress of knowing how America had suffered tore at my heart, but I knew by Russia's eyes and voice that he was truly thankful for what I had done. He saw me like a hero, yet I felt a certain regret that I had rescued Russia. Guilt too, that I felt that way. Nevertheless, if Russia had been the one attacked, then I could have stopped America without damaging him.

"Oh, Canada…" Britain murmured when I had not answered Russia. "Why didn't you listen to me? Why didn't you trust me? I told you that America was strong and dangerous. If you had let us do what we had intended, then you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"I'm sorry…" I whimpered. "I'm so sorry…"

France shushed me. The three all held me for a while, trying to stop my bleeding, but the silence became thick as we all considered what Russia had done. France eventually left and came back shortly after with the bottle of alcohol. We all understood the intention. They wanted to apply it now and hopefully save me from the nasty infection that Britain had gotten.

Russia peeled back the towel. The messy bite mark was bleeding slowly, but I turned my gaze away from it as France poured a heaping of burning alcohol straight over it. I cried out, and Russia rushed to pet my hair and brush my tears away. I reached up and tried to slap away his hand, switching my gaze onto him and catching a glimpse of the rotted smears on his face. My anger and stress had returned, and when Russia saw it, he halted and took his hand back.

His hand's retreat caused my heart to sink, for now I had chased away his comfort.

"You're okay, Canada," France shushed me. "You're doing great."

Russia moved further back, shying away after my abnormally harsh reaction. He extended out his arm to keep the pressure on my wound, and maintained the furthest distance he could keep from me. Although he was still helping me, it was now only the other two who commanded the duty of relaxing me. Russia remained quiet throughout the entire ordeal.

It seemed to take an eternity before my bleeding had stopped. My injuries were disinfected once more, then bandages were secured to hide away the red. Immediately after his job was done, Russia crept away in the opposite direction while Britain and France led me to rest in my bed. Frightened and admittedly wary of Russia's departure, I wheezed, "Where is he going?"

Britain slipped out from the room to trail him. Soon, he reported to us that Russia was merely washing himself off. Russia made an appearance a bit later, cleaned of gore and seeking new clothes from his suitcase in my room. He changed in the bathroom, then slunk back into the room slowly, almost timidly, like a feeble deer. It was all part of his cautious approach to the bed, for he expected to be ordered to leave at any notice by me. I blinked at him as Russia dared himself to sit beside me with his back half turned to me.

He sighed, "I am sorry, Canada. I was very angry at America for many things… Not just for biting you. I was angry that America started everything and because it is his fault that you are sad all the time. Everyone is sad and hurts because America was stupid. He never thought about how you felt and never listened to you before. I think that America has always been bad to you, but you care more than you should about him…"

I tried to raise my head, but then I gave up and let it settle back down onto the pillow instead. From there, I whispered, "No. I do not care more about him than I should. Okay, so sometimes he is an idiot... a hotshot… everything that you just said… but he's my brother and I love him."

Russia turned just a bit more towards me. I could see more easily now, the true lack of understanding in his eyes. "I do not know why you do. He is selfish. I hate listening to every word that escapes his mouth… I hate seeing the cocky look he has many times in his eyes. He ignores you and forgets you. America-"

"Hate…" My voice was faint, and trailed off into a soft sigh. Although I was quiet, and even quieter than my usual self, Russia fell silent. "Did you ever tell him that you hate him? I… You've never said such strong words before… Why are you angry, when you used to ignore me too? Everyone treated me like him… Months ago, you would have never listened to me if I hadn't been America first."

Russia stiffened, then dropped his gaze. There was guilt in those purple orbs, a quality that I realized that Russia did not show to other people. Recently, so many parts of him were being revealed that I had not known were inside him. I waited to see what would come next, my glare easing in my stirred interest over the emotions he would expose.

"I do not think that he will change," Russia replied. "Or maybe he will for a little bit, but then America will be back to how he was before. I am different to you because I will treat you like my friend."

"Friend?" Britain scoffed. "You've just tried to destroy his brother!"

Russia closed his mouth. I took over now, prompting him in a wavering whisper, "Russia… Why did you do it, even if you were angry?"

"Why?" He glanced at me with a scrunched-up forehead. He had not understood the question.

"Why did you choose to be violent when you were angry?"

Russia looked even more lost than before, despite my elaboration. He hesitated so long with his response that an uncomfortable thickness hung in the air between us all. My words had sunk in, but Russia did not seem to know how to answer.

"I don't know…" he murmured at last.

The next question had more weight to it, but I spoke gently so that I could milk out the truth from him. I asked, "Were you trying to kill him for good, or just hurt him?"

Russia breathed, "I… I knew I was hurting him, and I liked this."

After a second had passed, France said, "Russia… You didn't answer all the questions that Canada asked. Did you want to kill him?"

Russia slammed his eyes shut. He shook his head, insisting, "No, I did not think about it… If I wanted to do that, then I would have hit him with my full strength. But I did not because…"

"Why not then?" Britain interjected. "If you were so mad at him and did not care about what Canada wanted, why didn't you just strike him with all of your might?"

"I don't know," he exhaled again. "Maybe it is because I am still thinking that Canada being America _was_ America. It makes me think that America is good, but he is not. When I was not having the time to think a lot, I was hesitating although I was angry. Now, I can think more."

My hands flopped back onto the mattress, forming cups that faced the ceiling. I let my eyes fall halfway closed as I whispered, "And if you were thinking as you are now, would you have hit him harder?"

"I am not sure."

Britain bristled and France rose up. Their eyes widened, although there were more offended thorns in the gaze that Britain directed at Russia.

"What did you just say?" Britain snarled.

His answers to these questions were cooling the core of anger in my chest. I suddenly found faith in him, although the other two only seemed to become more upset by his honest words. Russia may have just insisted that he hated America, but his hesitation in the shovel strike proved that I could still hold some hope for him. Russia needed convincing to understand my stress, and yelling at him would only strengthen his opposition.

"Russia," I murmured. "I believe that America can change, but you have to give him a chance. Remember… No one else thought that you should have been given one. But I was nice to you, and I was surprised when you became my friend. And… and I know he ignored the things you sent him, but he didn't understand what he could have gained. But I can help you, Russia, and you can be to him like I was to you."

The tension in Russia's face disappeared, and he regarded me with clearer eyes that allowed me to view the tender thoughts within.

I finished, sighing, "I just can't imagine living without him. An-and… after all of this, I think that he will learn a lesson. It isn't fair either, that he died when he didn't want to… That is why you can't hurt him. He just wants to live and he'll be so happy to be with us again."

Russia nodded slowly with shadows of regret cast over his face. He scanned my injuries, then shifted closer to touch my non-injured shoulder. His hand stayed there, heavy and warm as he whispered, " _I am sorry_."

No one said anything. I met Russia's eyes and knew that it was important to accept his feelings and encourage his progress. My heart still ached since he had hurt America, but I tried to understand that he had been overprotective over more than just the wounds I had received. So I allowed my own eyes to liquify with warm forgiveness, because if I did not forgive him, then no one would.

"No one has ever done a sacrifice for me like that," Russia mumbled. "Canada… You showed me how good a friend you were… I did not want you to be treated badly by anything. But I did something that hurt you… I am sorry."

It was strange for all to hear Russia, of all people, apologizing so much for his own actions. I was moved. I shushed him and exhaled, "Okay… just don't do it again. And say sorry to America when we get him back..."

That was certainly an absurd idea, since no one had actually seen Russia apologizing to America before. Nevertheless, Russia agreed quietly and stroked his hand down my arm. He then set it back over his leg and stared away, unsure of what to do now.

Britain sighed before he focused his attention once more upon me. "Are you alright?"

I closed my eyes and settled down. "Yeah…"

France echoed Britain's sigh. "You'll need a lot of rest. It's been hard for you lately."

"Is there anything we can get you?" Britain asked.

"No… Not right now."

Russia murmured, "Maybe you want a drink?"

"Um…"

"I will make you cocoa," he continued, hardly leaving any room for dispute. "You did this for me, and it made me feel better. I want to take care of you too."

My head turned back to the side, falling over weakly. "You've already done that, when I was sad…"

"This is no debt," Russia smiled softly. "Whenever I can, I will try to make you feel better. It does not matter who is doing more."

Russia lifted himself up from the mattress and padded across the carpet. He turned into the hall, the fluttering end of his scarf the last of him to disappear from sight. Once he was gone, the other two moved closer to me and began fretting and caressing me.

"You were brave," France breathed. "Throwing yourself out in front of Russia like that…"

Again, I did not know how to respond to that, since I still felt some regret about it. No one expected an answer however, and so they sat with me for a while without saying more. The silence that came to reign over the bed unnerved me. I felt sure that they were thinking about America, and how they still wanted to cut him up.

"When are you going to do it then?" I sighed. They knew exactly what I was talking about.

"Tonight," Britain replied. "Before America gets even stronger from what Russia did to him."

"So that will make him stronger…"

"Indeed."

France pleaded with me in a tentative voice, "Please, don't be upset about it. It is like we said… America would be alright with it if it was the only way to protect you. Just from what he has already done, he will feel bad."

"So…" Britain began.

"Fine…" Tears leaked from my eyes and my aching body began to quiver. "Just do it then..."

France assured me gently, "Russia can wait with you. You'll be okay."

"Everything will be okay," Britain whispered. "I promise."

"Play some music and drink your cocoa," France said. "Don't think about it. You won't ever have to see him after so…"

My muscles clenched, straining my cuts, but I said nothing. I nodded stiffly and felt fatter tears rolling over the curves of my cheeks. There was music I could listen to: the Russian classical music that Russia had played to calm me back at his place. The volume could be cranked up, then he would sit beside me and ease me with his accented whispers. I wouldn't have to hear or think about the running chainsaw in the neighbouring basement.

We waited for Russia to return bearing a steaming mug for me. I continued to lay like a wooden board however, unable to relax with America on my mind. The tears kept releasing themselves and I fought against quaking and jolting the ribs under my cut. France and Britain tried to comfort me, but I was too on edge to relax my body.

A screech of a cat caused me to fly upwards. The injuries all tore simultaneously, causing me to yowl and fall back down. The other two hushed me and prodded at me carefully, while the strangled screech echoed into nothingness, never returning. It had been so short, but it had been loud and near, and I could hear the claws and writhing within it. It might have been the territorial dispute between cats, but I worried more that a coyote had nabbed one of them.

Wishing that the worst had not just happened, I groaned to them, "Could you look outside? Make sure…"

France was already up and glancing out the window. His head turned from side-to-side, but he reported, "I don't see anything."

"Sounded like it was in the front yard," Britain commented. He pointed off forward and to the right. "That way."

France walked briskly from the room and into the hall. My worries about America were distracted for the minute, my heart pounding at the thought of being informed of a cat's harm. Someone's pet and beloved family member. I imagined the torn mess of an injured tabby being brought inside and to me by France. I shivered and continued my crying, but France did not come back right away.

We waited, yet France never returned. I assumed that he must have gone outside, but then a shrill scream of terror came flying down the hall. I was the first from my room, tearing away as though I could feel none of my wounds. I charged down the hall in the general direction that he had gone, with his name flying from my mouth like burning fire.

" _France_!"

He was still screaming. Behind me, Britain was shrieking his name as well, but I was snapped into silence the moment I found him. There were his feet, then his upright legs that rose like twin stalks. France was standing, and he was unharmed, but now his scream was dying into a gaping-mouthed silence.

From the doorway to the kitchen, he continued to stare forward and downward with utterly wide and white eyes. I dove to his side in order to instantly behold all that he did. What I saw was difficult to comprehend at first, since I could not fathom how it was possible, but all was there and indisputable.

The destroyed body was no longer in the basement that Britain had surely locked up. It had somehow found its way here, past two doors and into the kitchen, and strong enough to do more than just stand. We knew now that the sound we had heard before had been no cat screech. That awful and tortured cry had been Russia's, before his throat had been torn out by the emaciated skeleton which now lay over him. Russia could make no sound now, and could only squirm weakly under America.

Russia was not dead, but he should have been. His front was split open from the neck to abdomen, and all the skin and muscles had been pulled apart to reveal gleaming organs. The corpse rasped over him with the bright piece of new meat glued to its own throat, vocal once more, although sounding like its victim. America jammed his own bony fingers into the holes of his own stomach and ripped it open, tearing the shirt and then the threads of the stitches. The blasted and crushed insides were hastily yanked out from himself, the white-boned hands unraveling discoloured intestines and casting all anyway.

I was already dashing forward, but not before the hands jammed their slender fingertips into Russia's ribs. The twig-like arms snapped out to the side, snapping open the cage of bones with thundering cracks. I lunged and spun out a kick, hooking America around the middle, but it was not he who was flung. Like striking a rock, I fell over him and smacked into the tile floor. America had kept a powerful grip upon the bones and could not be removed so easily. The light skeleton regained its balance, before plunging his hand into Russia's chest.

I rolled out of the way as France and Britain tackled America. Through my spread fingers, I saw America going down, but not without something large and red tearing free from Russia. Immediately, Russia's back arched as he screamed without a sound, bubbles of blood erupting from his throat instead. Russia's face contorted into such a horrified, excruciated expression, and from the position I had now on his other side, I could see the worst of it all.

America was off him, but the right eye was gone and a bleeding socket was left behind. On the same side, the skin and muscle from his temple to lips had been slashed clean off. I saw teeth that were now left completely exposed to the air, and the scarlet mess of where his lips, which I had now noticed, had been torn off.

Britain and France struggled with groans and hollers to hold America down. I leapt forward and joined them once I had noticed just how easy it had been for America to sit up. He snarled and swung out at us, trying to slap us all away to get at the victim he truly wanted. I threw down my weight and fell over him, coming face-to-face with America once again. It had only been over an hour, but now I was the one over him and staring into one large, dark hole of his face.

One, since the other socket had already been filled. I faced the gnashing corpse who stared directly at me with Russia's violet eye and with various pieces of fresh meat cemented onto him. Minutes ago, I had looked into those eyes and had seen a pool of colourful emotions. Days ago, I had been admiring their hues. To see the eye here however, was different. I had never seen an eye without emotion. It was a living eye, and yet, it was as dead as the cadaver that bore it.

I screamed, but it was drowned out by the frantic screech of America. He had been quiet for so long, but here was his voice again, albeit it now had a Slavic flavor. It still did not sound like Russia however, not when it became the warbled, high-pitched cry of an inhuman being. His torment erupted into the world and shook the air around us with the mere intensity of that scream.

All three of us were tossed away. The greasy skeleton pelted through our arms and bent forward. Squeezed still in its hand, was Russia's dripping heart. America crammed it into himself, then dove back onto Russia's shaking body. His scratched for Russia's other eye, but Russia slapped his hand over it and pushed vainly against him. America moaned and ripped off the skin on the back of his hand, desperately applying it and trying to get past the barrier.

France fled the room and I knew exactly where he was going. The basement, because that was where the gun was. Britain had a different idea however, seeing that we were pressed for time. He flung himself to the side and yanked the largest knife free from the rack on the counter. In one fluid movement, Britain dropped down onto America and plunged the knife through his back. The steel entered through the rotted meat easily, slipping in right until the hilt.

America curved back and screamed, his orange teeth flashing at the blind ceiling above. Russia's eye in his skull flashed to the side, before America whirled to snap at the one who had attacked him. Britain tugged out the knife swiftly, and once America was facing him and wailing, he stabbed him in the face.

The knife sank in but got stuck halfway. America stood and scrambled back, screaming his blood curdling yells of agony and slapping at the knife. Yet no matter how he screamed and stumbled, he was soon down again, driven so much by the need for Russia's warmth. He tried to roughly grab hold of Russia's right lung, but I was already there, kicking the knife deeper into his face.

Bone crunched as it drove in deeper into his brain. America fell back onto the floor and flailed, but I was already over him. I shot my hand into his opened gut, reaching up under his ribs and finding Russia's heart. I felt its beating against my fingertips. When I grabbed hold of it and tried to pull, however, I felt the tissue resisting. The organ was already fastened to America.

America kicked me back and pounced upon Russia. I grasped his shoulders and pulled back, but the iron grip had returned. America clung to Russia's angled and broken ribs, until some broke free and America toppled back onto me. Screeching in desperation, America turned on me and his jaw snapped at my face. He was through with waiting. He would take from whoever he could if no one would let him have Russia.

The gunshot came at last. The bullet split the air and suffocated the sounds of America's screaming. America was hit in the side and he fell over, finally limp and no longer struggling. The handle of the knife still stuck out from his face, but all he could do was paw at his new wound. Gurgles snaked out from his broken mouth and blood poured out from the hole. Red, fresh blood. Russia's blood was erupting from America's body.

I wailed and fell over, collapsing onto Russia accidentally, and feeling hot stickiness under my palm. My hand slipped and slid across the floor into the drenched end of his bloody and torn scarf. My head snapped back to Russia, making eye contact with Russia's one remaining eye. The damaged hand that had protected it had already dropped away. Now, the flowing tears were now revealed as Russia locked his terrified gaze onto me.

He was not dead, but he had no heart. France could not be blamed however, for it was more than the exploded heart that ensured that Russia would die. The broken ribs had splintered and poked into other organs, leaking juices into the already massive puddle of blood under Russia. There was no way to fix him now, and Russia knew it. He was scared. There was incredible pain and indescribable fear within Russia, but there was nothing that I could do to save him.

But I had been pouring my hope into Britain for so long. In my panic, I wanted to rely on him. Surely, there was something that _he_ could do.

"Britain," I moaned. "Oh, please do something..."

The gun fired again. In my peripheral vision, America fell back down. I had not noticed how he had been dragging himself closer again, but France had been watching him.

Britain dropped to his knees on the other side of Russia, his pants becoming painted with Russia's red. "I was afraid of this," he whispered. "But I feared that it would be you."

I did not want to hear this now. It did not seem to have any meaning or use, so I cried, "Britain, s-save him!"

"I can't!" he snapped at me with his voice and sharp eyes. "There's too much damage!"

My body became petrified. Russia shook and turned his head to the side towards me, reaching out his hand to me. I took his blood-soaked hand into both of mine, bringing it close to my chest. His trembles begged for me to do something to help him.

"No, Russia…" I mewled. "We have to save him, we have to… take him to the hospital!"

France murmured, "It won't help him."

"We have to do something! He can't die! What are we going to do if-"

"Canada!" Britain barked. "Listen now, I know what to do!"

I lost control of myself, my body breaking out into sobs as I demanded, "What? What c-c-can-"

Britain leapt to his feet and sprinted from the room. Seconds later he was back, returning from America's side and bearing one item in his hands. It was the container, and it was now slammed onto the counter.

"Wait, wh-what are you doing?" I gasped.

France cried, "Britain, that's for Ame-"

"Yes," he uttered. "It is for America. It is only missing two ingredients, but we have them now, more or less. We can cure America this instant."

France stammered, "Ar-are you saying that with Russia-"

I yelped, but Britain quickly cut both me and France off. "There is enough of the potion for two people! From the start, I was always afraid that something would happen to Canada, so I have been making double the necessary amount! If we cure America now, then there will be enough of the potion left to cure Russia in only a few weeks or less!"

America growled and turned over. France pointed the gun at him with a trembling hand, gasping, "Do it, Britain. If we can't save Russia, then it's all we can do…!"

Britain lowered himself and yanked the knife out from America's face. The empty-eyed skull screamed and lay back down. Britain approached Russia with the upturned chef's knife, murmuring, "I only need his liver and stomach…"

Russia threw up his hand and grabbed onto Britain's wrist. He shook and tried to keep Britain at bay, but he was far too weak.

"Britain!" I sobbed. "You can't, you just- Russia's not dead yet!"

He was suffering and afraid. Now, we were collected by him and the last thing he would experience before the dark, was the merciless face and knife of Britain. I leapt in and pushed Britain back, pleading, "Not like this, please, _please_!"

He sighed, "I don't know how long it will take for him to die."

I whimpered, "He's suffering."

"I know…" Britain glanced down to the knife. "But because we can't save him… perhaps we could shorten that."

I whined and looked back to Russia. He could hear all that we said, and he was even more frightened. Everything upon his face begged me to stop Britain. Russia did not want to die, but there was so much pain that he could not take. No one could watch someone stealing their organs while they were dying, even if it meant saving another.

"R-Russia…" I whispered. "You're going to be alright. Britain… he'll, he'll fix you in only a few weeks' time."

Tears leaked from his eye. Russia tried to speak, but blood spilled from his neck and no sound was produced. I held his hand still and looked right into the quivering orb. Britain snuck around him as I turned Russia's head to me. He would not have to look at what Britain was going to do next.

"You won't have to suffer," I sniffed, my throat seizing up and straining my voice into the tightest of whispers. "And when you wake up… I'll be there for you."

Russia closed his eye and quivered with his own crying. Britain put the blade tip by his torn throat and winced, before he plunged it into it. The eye flew back open and Russia convulsed, his pupil flashing in every direction. The knife went deeper and sawed; Russia's hand tightened its grip on mine, the fingers scraping desperately for help. Then, a point had been reached, and the final struggle ceased. Russia went limp and his eye closed completely.

France collapsed onto his knees and slapped his hands over his eyes, shivering and dropping the gun. Britain inhaled rapidly and found that he as well, could no longer hold the knife. He stared at what he had just done, and I knew his shock. He had just murdered Russia, and whether he had liked him or not, this was the thought that haunted him.

Russia's lifeless hand slipped out from my own. It had still been warm, so I grabbed it again and kept it close to me. But everything was growing colder the longer I knelt and kept staring. A haze spread over my vision, and from elsewhere, came my own panicked screams. Just like the screams that had erupted on the mountain trail, I shrieked the fallen one's name, although he would never hear me.

 _Russia_ …

There were no tears left to cry when the blackness came. It was almost a relief when the stress overtook me once again. I fell over Russia, ignoring all the exposed organs and broken bones in order to awkwardly fumble my arms over him. I held him by his shoulders, losing my sight, then my hearing, as I hugged him and set my cheek onto his lacerated collarbone. All the other senses tingled away, until the last thing that I felt was touch. I felt Russia and I felt Britain's quaking hand, since he needed me to move out of the way, although in only a second would I fall anyways.

This hug was empty. There was nothing here that was familiar or comforting. The clean-smelling clothes and soft cotton were now drenched with the heavy weight of blood. The scarf that I had once pressed my face against was ruined and wet; the part that touched me now left a slap of crimson on my forehead. No careful arms wrapped around me, and no calming heartbeat came from the ravaged torso that no longer held a heart. The solid warmth of the chest that I had rested against during my time of anguish was gone now, and I would have never imagined that this warmth would have ever faded away like this.

He was growing even colder now.

 _Russia…_

When I passed out, I was spared from what would come next.


	16. Chapter 16

I peeled open my eyes and saw the tiles stretching out sideways from where they were glued to my cheek. Without having to move, I could peer ahead and see the same puddle of blood that dominated the floor since before I had blacked out. Cloth shifted and I noticed now that there was a blanket over me, which I immediately fought off to sit up. I needed to see the rest of the kitchen, to clarify what was missing and what was remaining; however, in my frantic movement, I gasped before squeaking at the pain I had fired up in my shoulder and chest.

In the adrenaline of the battle with America, I had not minded how all of my injuries had torn open anew. I was rocked by the agony now, and although the bleeding was slow, I could feel the wide mouths of the cuts that had split from the locking scabs. The pulsing pain did not stop me from scanning my surroundings, but nothing that I was seeking was there. Russia was gone, America as well, and both France and Britain had vanished. I had been left alone in the filthy kitchen, and filthy myself after holding Russia in the state that I had last seen him.

There were so many questions and concerns that I had. There was one answer I was sure of, however. Russia was dead. I had seen that with my own eyes, but what I needed to know was what had happened how much time had passed.

 _Where's Russia? Is America cured now? The potion-_

When I raised myself up, I saw that the container was no longer on the counter. My eyes zipped to the side and I saw the curved and drying smears of a bloodied hand print around the handle of the fridge. I avoided the blood and opened it, confirming that Britain had quickly thrown the container into my fridge this time, likely from haste. The scarlet liquid lay in a transparent drawer, and now it was only half-filled.

So it had been true. He had produced a double amount, and half of it was already used. Recognizing the stranger of the silence around me, I assumed that everything had been successfully completed.

 _America is back… Where is he then? Could he really look like he did before?_

Flashing memories of the decayed muscles and gnashing skull returned to me. The empty eyes hovered in my mind's eye while a rasping moan echoed behind it. With a gasp, I fell back and pressed into the edge of the counter. I clenched at my fresh injuries then groaned, realizing how gingerly I needed to treat my body now.

I glanced at the digital clock on the oven. Only an hour had passed, but I could not be late. I would find America soon, but I had made a promise to Russia to be there when he awakened. I assumed that Russia was in America's basement, so I departed the kitchen and followed the drops and smears of blood into the living room. Finally, I observed the door that hung open and on an angle. That had been my doing, and my fault that America had easily dashed onto my side without ruckus.

I froze for a moment, staring at the chipped wood. I had struck this door in my panic, but had I damaged the basement door too, when I sprinted to stop the chainsaw? I skittered through to the other side and rushed to the basement. At the door, I confirmed my terror. It was hardly noticeable, but the hole that kept the locking piece of the door had been destroyed, and now it was a gaping wound that let the door swing open easily. The lock was still stuck out, but the door was wide open.

The light was off. No one was down here yet with Russia, but my ears could now pick up on sounds emanating from elsewhere. There came a gurgling from a tub elsewhere and then some muffled words near me. Britain's voice was in a room by me, meaning that the distant tub was France, who was doing to Russia what I had once done for America.

After having had seen these two doors and understanding the role I had played, my entire being was clenched with guilt. None of this would have happened if I had not broken these doors in my desperation. If I hadn't stopped Britain and France from doing what was best, Russia would be alive. If I had just held onto America tighter on top of that cliff, _both_ of them would be alive. The pain over my chest and shoulder nagged at me, as though grinning and exclaiming that I deserved this, and so much more than this.

 _Everything is my fault_ …

A ball formed in my throat, but I hurried to where France was. The tears were already here, streaking down my face, but I still had to fulfill my promise. It was all I could do now, to soften the pain of all that I had caused. From now on, I would have to be passive. I was good at that, so what had happened? As I ran to America's bathroom, I wondered if the power of being America had gotten to me. I had stood up against Britain too many times, but he had always been prepared. Even lying and hiding information, he had never once failed me or anyone. Like a miracle, he had twirled his fingers and America was back.

 _I am the failure._ _I will not argue again. They can do whatever they want now... I am done with causing trouble and making everything worse!_

My face was a mess by the time I swung open the bathroom door. My eyes were red, my cheeks soaked, and my skin and hair were matted with drying blood. France glanced back, although I was sure that he already knew who was there. His face twisted in sympathy at the sight of me, his eyes moving away from Russia's unresponsive body to check over me.

"Canada…" he murmured. He did not know what to say, and I was equally clueless.

I came closer, but he put out his hand. France did not want me to see him, but it was too late. Russia was laid back in the tub, his head tossed over and torn face in full sight. One half was nearly perfect; his eye was closed as though he was resting peacefully. The other half was a different story, however, where he had no eyelid to cover the hollow socket and no skin to hide the inner workings of his cheek. Because of his lack of lips, he was all teeth. Russia had not rotted yet, but his face already resembled a grinning skull.

I shot back as though I had stepped over a mouse trap. Shuddering in fear instead of sorrow, I looked away and tried to calm myself. So early, and already I could imagine how Russia would look in a week. Another transformation was coming when I had never wanted to see someone rot away again.

France got up and tried to console me. His hands were clean like pearls from the hot water, but he was ready to dirty them on my clothes when he tried to hold me. I moved back, but he moved closer. There was no escape, which stressed me further until I hit the door frame and had nothing else to do but collapse against him, cracking in half and sobbing in his arms.

He let me go for a minute, before whispering, "Everything will be okay…"

"I'm s-sorry," I gasped. "Oh… I-I-I'm so s-sorry…"

"This isn't your fault," he murmured.

I wanted to scream out everything that I had thought of, everything that proved that _I_ had caused these horrible events, but my throat allowed no more words. I pushed him away and shook my head roughly, though he grabbed me and tried to stare into my eyes.

"This was America's fault," France stated in an attempt to drive in the point. "His idiocy caused all of this! Even if you made mistakes, all of this happened because of America!"

My bottom lip trembled, and I refused to stop crying.

" _This_ "- France indicated Russia without either of us looking at him- "might have happened no matter what you did!"

 _No_. I formed the words with my mouth, unable to voice it clearly, and instead only produced incomprehensible hisses. _Not if I had let you chop up America_.

I shook my head over and over again. France tried to hold me as I pushed away, but I yanked myself free. It wasn't right that he was comforting me, the guilty one. Besides, Russia was more important. With another disquieted glance at him, I noticed the stitches that had already been laced to seal up his chest. The shape of him was not quite right, though. The ribs had been broken, shifted, or removed, so there were lumps and dips in all the wrong places. It was easier to view without the shining organs and blood coloured boldly like a painting, but his skin seemed so pale. I was caught wondering if it was always so pale or if there was already a difference.

France stepped in front of me. "I will take care of him, Canada… You should clean yourself up."

"I… I need to be there f-for him," I sniffed.

"It won't take you long. It is better if you don't look at him until I am done…"

France pushed me back, and since I had grown so weak and complacent, I bent to his will. There would be no more fighting. He closed the door carefully, separating my face from his weary one, then I dragged myself away. As I headed to my bathroom, I heard Britain again as he was still speaking. I paused and leaned toward the closed door of America's bedroom, but I did not hear America talking.

He must have been in there, however. _Who else would Britain be talking to_? My hand worked on its own, grasping the doorknob and trying to turn it.

Locked.

Britain had either seen the knob move or had heard me, maybe both. He halted his dialogue and called back, "Not now, Canada!"

"Wh-what are you doing?" I pawed vainly at the door. "Is America-"

"America's fine," he answered. "I'm just… explaining everything to him."

Finally, the confirmation. America- he was back just like that. I had fallen into a state like sleeping, and had woken up to a reality that was like a dream. After so much time had passed, it just felt surreal that he could be whole again when I had just seen the savage, skeletal creature that he had become.

"America!" I cried through the wood. "America?"

Britain whispered something. I waited. I waited so long for the voice of my living brother, to know that one nightmare was at least over. And I did hear him, but it was not like the America that I was used to. The voice was raked with tears although it tried not to be.

"Hey… Canada…." he murmured. "I'm back…"

I gasped and frantically tried the doorknob again. "America! Is that- America!"

No one unlocked the door and instead, Britain sighed, "Give us a bit, Canada… then you can see him."

I could not understand the refusal. I did not care if America was under stress and upset now or if I had to listen to everything horrible that had happened again. I wanted to sit with him despite it all, just to see and to touch in order to confirm. But then, I remembered my soiled clothes. France had told me to clean myself up, then I was supposed to be there for Russia. On a different point of view, it wasn't best to try to hug America in the state that I was now.

I hung by the door in indecision until these thoughts, then I scampered from the door without answering Britain. I went to shower as France had advised me, but I was forced to pass by the door that I had broken and the trails of blood once more. Further guilt assaulted me. I should never have been so rebellious. Maybe I should not have even tried to get close to Russia, for now I had caused him so much pain. The rash actions and the nice ones alike had brought us to where we were now.

After a troubled shower where I had scrubbed myself clean, I hurried back to America's bathroom. The air felt strange and I knew it was because there was so much silence and yet so much going on. I was torn between two things, but I passed America's bedroom and came back to France in the bathroom. He noticed the lack of lumps under my shirt, where I had not recovered myself with bandages after taking off the old ones. Immediately, he fretted over me, finding the last bundle and wrapping my shoulder. The cut across my chest was left alone, but it was not as bad now as it had looked before.

I had watched Russia while France had tended to me, but his condition had not changed. France, once done nursing me, asked me to find something clean for Russia to wear. When I was back in my room however, I knew that whatever I picked from Russia's suitcase would get ruined in the end. I tried to pick plain clothes that he was hopefully not too attached to. Baggy clothes too, in order to cover his decaying body best from his own eyes.

He would want a scarf. I saw that he did have an extra, but I was sure that it was too special to get destroyed by the stains of rotting juices. Instead, I tributed one of my scarfs, a black winter scarf, and I added it to the general pile. Everything was carried back to France, who was now drying off Russia's still immobile body.

His eye had not opened yet, so he could not stare at me as America had when I had done this for him. When I got to stare at Russia long enough though, his appearance became less terrifying and instead grievous feelings were invoked within me. I didn't want Russia to be still like this, because even when he was sleeping, his chest moved and he reacted to sounds. He should be sleeping now, because it was late, or awake back home had he not come for me. All the circumstances had made him into a victim. I saw a victim now because no matter how far he had gone with his attack on America, he did not deserve this. It was my fault he had attacked America, and my fault that Russia was dead.

We got Russia into his new clothes. Now, we could no longer see the misshapenness of his chest or the stitches, so everything looked better except for his face. That part of him remained sickening to look at.

"Do you have any more bandages?" France murmured. "We can wrap his…"

After a search, I realized that there were no more left since the last time I had bought some. They had all been used on me. I shook my head and whispered, "We'll have to buy more."

"I'll buy them. You stay with Russia."

He got up immediately and left. Alone with Russia, I blurred my eyesight so that I could observe Russia for movements without really focusing on his facial wounds. The minutes were long when I expected something to happen at every new second. I sat on the floor beside where he was leaned against the bathtub, until I bent over and rested my head against his chest. Here, I could feel the bumps like rocks under the sweater. My face wrinkled and I clung to his long sleeve, but his arms hung and did not curl around me.

I moved back and wiped away my tears when I heard France coming. He dropped down with the bandages and began unraveling them, and I shifted back to watch him behind his back. There was some struggle to figure out how it would be done, but he managed to securely cover the clawed part of Russia's face and the trench in his neck. The scarf was readjusted, and then Russia stopped looking dead. Now, he looked injured with the bandages and fresh change of clothes. His hair had dried and was looking soft again, gently lying over his forehead and ear to create an innocent appearance.

"We better take him downstairs," France murmured.

I took him by the legs and France lifted his torso. We marched down the hall and carried him to America's side, carefully stepping down the stairs. The basement had never been cleaned and it was still a mess, so France directed Russia against the wall. We left him there to clean the floor, tackling it with a mop, cloth, and about every cleaner that we thought could apply to our situation. The wooden beam retained a faint stain, but the floor had fared well. We polished even the chains, and not once did I shift my overall gaze from Russia.

He did not stir when we set him in the cleaned zone or when we set him into place to wrap the chains around him. A second and third lock was needed to clip together the broken pieces, then it was done. Russia lay limp against the wood like a sleeping captive, and we were left watching him with held breaths.

"Thank you," I murmured.

He blinked and glanced to me. "For what, Canada?"

"For cleaning…" My eyes caught the floor, beam, chains, and Russia. I thought that France might have just set him in the mess, but he had taken the time to respect him. In a time like this, it presented me with some of the relief that I needed.

"It was the least I could do… I hope he will be okay, Russia… It won't be for so long but waking up like this…" A pained expression crossed his face and I realized that I was not the only one who worried about Russia. Perhaps some might not have felt it before, but now when he had suffered, the caring leaked through.

His words made me imagine what it would be like to sit where Russia was. I would be frightened to know that I was dead and that there was nothing I could do about it. Rotting, encased in the chains… That had been America's experience, but Russia could not talk. His neck had been torn out so he would be unable to express anything.

 _Unless I can get him to write_ …

Which wouldn't be allowed because an arm would have to be freed from the chains. I exhaled through my nose and knelt by Russia, then sat down fully and crossed my legs. France mumbled that he would tell Britain that Russia was locked up down here, but as he was leaving, there was a tremor in the eyelid. Russia's eye creaked open and immediately locked onto me.

I hopped over in front of him. I gasped, "Russia!"

The eye stared back and his face remained still. Since his lips were covered, there was an even smaller portion of his face that could transmit his emotions. There was not much he could do, however, as he figured out himself. Based on my time with America though, I assumed that he was conscious and could understand me.

"I'm here," I breathed, touching him by the shoulder. "It's okay."

The eye flitted over degree by degree, looking past me and identifying the basement. I turned back my head to try to see what he saw. I had not noticed until now, but France was still here, frozen and watching us with a parted mouth. We both stared until he broke away, hurrying up the stairs with his news to the others. Russia's eye continued until it fell down, seeing his own confined predicament.

"There's no choice…" I whispered. "But… but you know why."

I hoped he understood, but I could not tell. Russia did not struggle, although I expected that he couldn't even lean himself forward. Russia did not blink as I wiggled closer, but he watched my every movement as I reached for his hair.

"You understand me, right?" I asked like a breeze. "Blink yes?"

Slowly, he dropped down his eyelid and reopened it. I slid my fingers into the hair at the side of his face, pressing along the skull as I stroked it back. When he closed his eye, I knew that he felt content and trusted me. It stayed shut until footsteps pounded down the stairs, skipping steps and frightening me. I wondered what the problem was, but then realized that it was neither Britain nor France. My hand froze and I turned back to see America hopping down to the bottom. The others followed so quietly that it was though only America had come.

My eyes flew open and I yelped, "America-"

There was no hiding the red streaks of his old tears, but he rushed to me and grabbed me. America sat back on the floor and dragged me into a crushing hug, rocking and trying to pet every spot on my back all at once. It was hard to breathe, but I snatched him and gasped when I realized what was happening. I was hugging America, and he was warm and covered in skin. I whimpered his name again, sniffing, and stroking over the hair over his smooth arm. I could hardly believe that the textures under my hand was real. Captivated I remained, as I listened to his next words that came.

"Oh my god, Canada… You are the best brother in the whole world." He accompanied his breathy speech with a squeeze. "Britain just told me a whole bunch of stuff and I have literally _no_ idea what we would have done without you! Man, I'm so, so sorry for everything. I mean, for being an idiot, for grossing you out, and being so scary and- god, I'm sorry that I hurt Britain and I hurt _you_ …! I couldn't think straight at all and… I would have never done that otherwise! Not to anyone..."

America popped up his head and looked at Russia. His rapid words slowed and although I could not see it from my angle, I knew that America's face had creased up in regret.

"Hey, Russia…" He began with an uncomfortable swallow. "I'm so sorry for what happened. I would have never done that to you… You know that, right? I never wanted to hurt you so much… I couldn't control myself. I mean, I even attacked Canada so it's obvious that I was completely messed up in the head."

America had that quietness in his voice that I knew to be sincerity. He thought that Russia had been an accident, and I did not dare correct him. Perhaps I was wrong, that in his right mind he would not hurt Russia. I could not tell what was in his heart, but Russia had always been the one who his undead self had wanted first.

Now though, America did not want to create an enemy out of this. He did not want Russia to think that he had killed him on purpose, selfishly, to come back to life. All Russia did, nevertheless, was stare at him while I was entangled in his arms. I knew that staring was about all that he could do, but I felt nervous suddenly. He might have been furious, but none of us could tell. If he was angry, then that eye would stay open just like it was now. If sad, happy, or understanding, then the eye should close and not be locked on America. That was my logic anyway, so I feared that Russia was upset in some way right now.

America could not help him no matter how sorry he was. My brother rubbed his hands over my back in awkward care and tilted his head back to me. He did not want to let go anytime soon, but I felt that I should be doing more for Russia. It did not seem right to hug him right in front of the one he had just murdered. Yet how could I abandon this embrace, after America had been dead for months? He needed my comfort right now and I could not ignore my own longing to hold him. To have someone recover from a sort of long, horrible sickness was how I felt; I was filled with swooping surges of giddiness and joy that compelled me to shake and nuzzle him.

America was not done with the situation. With Russia there, he felt the weight of responsibility and bowed to it. Still grasping me though, he addressed Russia.

"I don't know how to make it up to you," he exhaled. "Britain said that you were friends with Canada and that you've been really nice to him, even when you thought he was me. I'm trying to give you the biggest thanks that I can, but…" He looked to Britain. "Only he can help you."

"I will leave as soon as I can," Britain informed us. "But I have to go home first. The amount of vacation time I've been taking is unacceptable. It is getting ever the more difficult to leave, and each time requires more lies than the last. I assure you that I will do my best, but I might not be able to get out and search for another week or two at least."

 _Russia told his superiors that he would be here for a month_. I frowned. _But if they message him and he doesn't respond, what is going to happen?_

France murmured, "Where do you have to go exactly?"

"India."

"Just India?" America imputed.

"Yes but, it is a bit much to ask for. After I've been hoping around Europe and coming here, that is."

I tried to shift in Russia's direction and bring America with me. He didn't seem to notice my effort, so I could only regard Russia with a sympathetic look and murmur, "It's only one place. It'll be over soon."

I felt sure that somehow Britain would pull through and make it. He had done just that until this point, anyway. Russia watched me and although I didn't know what he was thinking, I felt the need to reassure him more. I said, "And I will stay with you so that you're never bored. We can watch movies and maybe I can think of a way to play something with you."

Maybe it was best to change this serious and mournful atmosphere. I finally slipped free from America and wandered to the TV, turning it on while feeling the dampness of the wet floor on my pants. I took the remote back and sat beside Russia, sensing the blunt yet slightly curious looks of the others upon me.

"Russia," I told him, "blink when you want me to stay on a channel."

America sat cross-legged and stared across at me. I shivered in another fresh realization that he was _back_ and just there, sitting so normally. I wondered just how this person had been the same creature that had bit me and Britain. How had it looked, when he had turned back to this? I pondered further, wanting to know how he had felt in those soiled clothes and how his first shower had been.

Since everyone had rushed down here as well, I wondered if Britain had told him everything, such as that two of America's organs were currently Russia's. He must have, for it was the only way that explained how America was back. However, America did not seem alarmed about it, as I would have been to have the organs of someone I killed inside me.

"Are you going to live down here now?" America asked. "Like you did with me?"

"You could stay too," I replied.

"Yeah sure, though technically I've already lived here for months." America shrugged. "We'll bring down some cushions or something. Some blankets and snacks, then we've got a little party."

Something else on Russia's face moved. His eyebrows shifted downward a bit; something had just displeased him.

 _The food_ , I realized. _Since he knows that it's his stomach in America_.

"Maybe no food," I murmured.

This talk was without a doubt irking Russia. Looking at the eye that stared with that wrinkle across the forehead, I knew that the support for Russia needed to start immediately. America crumpled up in guilt, realizing that he had been too excited to help and had forgotten the important details. I could not blame him though, since he probably felt no physical difference inside himself.

"Y-yeah…" Then America tried to recover himself. "But we'll have a great time. I mean, we could probably make Monopoly work, right? Blink for buy property? We'll just move everything for him, roll the dice…"

He was trying so hard to make up for his mishap. I had never seen him awkwardly stumble to make Russia feel better before, but I was impressed that after all Russia had done for me, America dedicated himself to repaying him. Despite the friendly effort, however, Russia's face did not relax.

 _This won't be good,_ I thought. _Although America could not control himself, Russia doesn't want to forgive him_. _I don't know what we can do either… I don't know how Russia feels, when America gets to live and he got killed. Could it actually annoy him more to have America around, acting friendly despite what he did?_

Since Russia could not talk, maybe time would show how he would feel about America. At least America was willing to be kind to him, as I had wanted him to be once cured. We could stay down here with France, trying to entertain Russia after Britain had gone away.

But then Britain came across an idea.

"I wonder," he said, "if we could find any part of him to reattach. When America's face healed itself, Russia's parts fell off. We might be able to find his throat so that he can talk again."

Russia quickly looked to Britain and his eyebrows lifted slightly more closer to their normal resting position. He was interested. The rest of us perked up, also supportive of the notion. France immediately offered himself up to the task, thus both he and Britain upstairs. America looked conflicted, then decided to stay in the cleaned basement with the two of us.

"So…" America started in their sudden absence. "How exactly did you two become friends?"

I began relaying the same story to him as the one that I had given France before. Britain and France soon came back downstairs, interrupting my story, and we looked across the room to see the Walmart plastic bag hanging from France's wrist. Against the translucent grey, there were dark red splatters on the inside and a heavy weight of crimson at the bottom. They moved past us and sat down directly before Russia, and when the one eye fell down to the bag, I thought that I could have never thought of a more peculiar and equally disturbing moment.

France sighed about having to already take the bandages off, before he uncurled them. When America saw the raw and skeletal side of Russia's face for the first time, he immediately swore loudly. Now he could see the zombie in him, the socket and bone that was unlike the regular face that had just been staring at him. America moved instinctively away, his horror movie experience telling him not to be close to any creature that looked like that. He looked tense, ready to punch that undead face if necessary.

Once Russia was unmasked, he was shown the contents of the bag. We saw what he saw; the bag was full of pieces of flesh. I cupped my twisting gut as they lifted out pieces and tried finding out where they went on him. Some might have been chest pieces, others not. A few pieces had been too stretched to go back properly because at some point, they have been stepped on. They had even found Russia's other eye, but the connecting piece was lost and so it would not work. Leaving it in the socket was also unsettling, so the project was abandoned entirely, and Russia's eye was dropped back into the bag.

Then, the meatiest chunk was exposed to us, which was definitely the throat that America had torn out in one clawed motion. America averted his eyes and looked pale, but I could not help but watch France press it against the cave that revealed Russia's vertebrae from the front. His fingers were mostly in the way, but I saw how the lines disappeared between the gaps. France removed his hand, and the piece did not fall. Russia's neck was mostly whole again, but there were holes in the sides that proved some parts on the inside had been scraped away. Britain and France searched the bag and tried jamming in their puzzle pieces. One thing fit, but the rest was not successful.

They leaned back, and Russia tested out the main addition. His torn mouth moved, but one side of his face still lacked a cheek and he still had no lips. The teeth parted, which only disturbed America further. To him, it was an undead mouth opening to bite flesh. But Russia's mouth formed the shape of the words, although the sound that was produced was incomprehensible. Russia made sounds that I could not put letters to, but at least now he _could_ make sounds. With that, Russia tried to move himself slowly, in other ways, to find a new way to create the old sounds.

The eye went back to glaring now that the moment of interest was over. Straining to get the letters and volume, Russia turned his grotesque visage towards America and hissed, " _Leah_!"

Consonants were difficult without lips, thus he failed on the v. We understood what he wanted, though. America was to get out of his sight. America stiffened and frowned, looking disappointed and saddened that there would be no chance of friendship. Russia struggled to express his emotions, but the effort he strained to put into his voice let us clearly know what was within him. Anger. Yes, now it was definitely anger that raged in the cavity where his heart had been. More than that, I could hear under the aspirated attempts at consonants, the wailing over the unjustness- the pain from his helplessness in being dead.

Russia was extremely stressed and sorrowed, and now he blamed them all. Everyone that had been unsure of him, or had not shown him enough care before, was targeted. Russia creaked his head down toward France and Britain, teeth on both sides bared now as he hissed, " _Leah_! _Leah_!"

America was already padding backwards, eyebrows wrinkled as he fixed his shirt. "Alright, alright…" he swallowed. "Sorry…"

The speech of thanks he had given Russia shied away with him. America headed up the stairs while Britain and France fumbled for the Walmart bag and backed up. They turned and hurried out as Russia continued to rasp at them, slightly stressed, slightly confused, by the desires of that half-faced creature. Beside me, something fell from the bag that they did not notice. They trotted up the stairs while my eyes found the stained rib bone that had been dropped beside me.

Russia was quiet now and I was left alone with him. The television was remembered, seeming to become audible all at once. The words of the show characters that were ignorant of the situation pounded at my skull. From the rush of the others to leave, I felt apprehensive myself. I almost expected Russia to demand for me to leave, but he did not. The happy-go-lucky characters on TV could not be faced alone, after all.

I stared at the bone with churning unease as in my peripheral vision, a bony face decorated with cobwebs of red muscles turned to me. Quickly, I thought of America already far away from me. I wanted him here beside me now that he was back, but Russia had divided us. Russia wanted me to stay with him, and only me, for the many days that it would take for him to lose consciousness.

I would definitely see how he would rot throughout the hours. It would have been easier with others, if we had really created "a little party", to use America's words, that would have let us take our minds off the inevitable. The horror of the situation was more real now that I was isolated with him, and it would be all that I could think about.

" _K-K-Ka_."

I had to calm down. This was the same person who had comforted me when I had cried, and the one who I had just shared a birch sap drink with. But I wondered where that drink was now, and the disgusting thought poisoned me. I shivered and thought about the organs in America. Simultaneously, I wanted America to hold me again. I also wanted Russia to hold me, but the Russia with me now was frightening in his appearance and wrath. Still, I wished ever so much for his living warmth.

I thought about how it would feel to be nuzzled by the missing cheek, with the sides of teeth grating against my head. Further, I shrank, squeezed mercilessly by the rising stress. Tears slipped free, unexplained and as though without an origin, and Russia surely saw them.

Russia struggled with my name again. I could not stop staring at that bone on the floor, which shook in my wavering vision. It made everything worse, so in one movement, I kicked it away and placed my shaken hands over Russia's bandages. I moved in front of him, looking away until it was necessary. Then, I had a shock, where an eyeless hole was centimetres from my face. He had tilted his head closer, looking at me with his whole and wonderfully purple eye, but it had not been the first thing I noticed. I had seen death before life. As a result, I was overtaken by flashbacks of America's corpse.

I trembled and forced the bandages to wrap away that side of Russia. He tilted his head as he always did, wondering about me. When the awful side was covered, I felt somewhat better and could now focus on his good eye. Russia gave up on talking and stayed still until I tied the knots and fixed his new scarf. His mouth was covered back up, yet Russia did not mind; he had now said all that he had wanted.

He tried to touch me with what he could, so he touched his cheek against my forehead. These were not teeth, and the skin was still a little warm. It was not so bad, yet so much was missing and so much was not right. Undoubtedly, something was wrong with Russia, and the potential that this held unnerved me. I tentatively hugged him again, especially now since I knew that inside, he was burning with hatred. It would not do well if he still felt this way once he had been returned to life.

Yet again, I did not know what to do. It was easy for me to want him to forgive America, but Russia had suffered so much. He had hated America before too, just for causing me pain. That being understood, the hatred inside him now must have been much worse than I could have ever imagined. And I felt that if I left him to see America, it would grow more powerful. Russia needed me and he was probably thinking of how I had comforted him before, with cocoa and a blanket over his shoulders. That was the kind of person he saw in me now, but inside, I was a little afraid.

 _America is not a murderer_ , I thought. _Not really. I've missed him for so long and now he's gone… I want to see him again. Will Russia let him come back later? America wanted to do all that he could for him, but he wouldn't accept it… I just wanted them to be friends, but this might just be it. I don't know…. I've messed up so much. Will it ever be possible for Russia to forgive him?_


	17. Chapter 17

The night was aging, and I was exhausted from the rush of the day. Travel, stress over the chainsaw event, injury, death… The day was over now, but I had to keeping living it. Russia had just awakened into a horrifying reality, so I could not simply go upstairs to bed. My plan was to strain myself to stay up all night, just as I had before for America.

I wondered if everyone else would sleep, but I did not think that they could. All of them had been twisted up inside from Russia's fate; those emotions had been reflected in the pooled waters of their eyes. America was grieving, and I knew that no matter what brave face he tried to put on. Although I leaned against Russia and watched the screen with him, neither of us really looking, I could only think about what was truly on America's mind.

I had been unprepared when I had found out about my death, since I never had this adjustment period that America had had. Coming back to life, America had already known he had died. He had many days before he disconnected from us, before he was unable to understand our words any longer. I never understood the words of the others, and mostly had only memories of feelings.

Yet America had been crying, though it had been alone in the company of Britain behind a closed door. His face and voice had remnants of tears, so when I had been lying on the kitchen floor unconscious, I had missed the true period of grief. Perhaps he had been loud, but I had not been awake to hear his breakdown. For around two hours, France had fixed up Russia and America had calmed himself before finally seeing Russia.

 _He doesn't normally let people see when he is upset_ , I noted. _But, why couldn't I see him? It seems like America and everyone else just want to hide things from me. I remember at the start, when I thought that America found his condition amusing. He said that he "looked cool". But Britain admitted that he was really sad, and just pretending for my sake._

I shifted my arm so that the curves of the chains dug into a different patch of flesh.

 _Always pretending that he has everything under control…_ _Maybe he couldn't allow himself to break down. After all, he isn't used to expressing these kinds of emotions in front of me and Russia. He doesn't want to hurt me and inside, he doesn't want to be weak in front of Russia. But like that, he can't even show how sorry he is to us..._

Russia's glare pierced into a place beyond the TV. He was thinking about America too, but it was vengeful thinking. Dangerous thoughts that assured me that America needed to crumble before him, to become a weeping mess that could easily be crushed. He needed to be fragile for once; he was this on the inside, I sensed it, but he wasn't embracing it.

The door was silent when it was opened. I was only surprised by the footsteps that set themselves on the stone softly. I thought that feet like those belonged to Britain or France, but it was America who showed his face. America moved in a way not like he used to, but his face tried to insist that he was fine. He bore a cushion and a blanket down the stairs, flashing his eyes to me the moment Russia snapped his attention onto him.

"Okay, so… I know I'm not supposed to be here, but…" America set down the cushion and sat on it. He faced me and seemed a little lost for words. I understood. He wanted to see us. He needed to hold me still, and he wanted to cure Russia of his hatred, but it was all a rash strategy.

He was already nearing me, and therefore nearing Russia. He recoiled as far as he could, like a hissing cat, although he remained in silence. America touched my arm, but dared not pull me away from the one that fixed him with a black dagger pupil. Now that he was here and cautious, however, came my chance to murmur, "America… You have to do more."

"More?" he whispered into my ear, trying to escape Russia's hearing. "Of what?"

"I… I mean…"

America was gentle, malleable beside me, while Russia was rigid and cold. The middle felt like a position of too much power, where all attention was on me and I had to move the elements at my sides.

Finally, I sighed, "You need to cry."

Neither America nor Russia reacted at first, so I wondered if I had spoken too quietly. I elaborated, "Russia needs to see you cry. He doesn't know how sad you are. It doesn't look like you're really sorry until…"

America folded his legs and flung his arms over them. Our sides touched, not much but still contact- and reminiscent of how I had felt long ago on a clifftop. There was so much suffering lingering in the air that could not be dismissed though. America paled and observed the uneven terrain of the floor, a guilty conscience that proved that I had been right about him. He _did_ want to cry, but his body and mind prevented him.

We watched America bent over on that cushion, but he could not change face. He was trapped in this medium state, where he said all the right words but lacked all the right emotions. To a point, I got it. None of this seemed real, and it was only all real to Russia. Maybe he even sensed that and was angry in his isolation.

Once upon a time, Russia had thought that America was hugging him. It had been me, and I knew how he had enjoyed that possibility of peace. With the memory glimmering in my mind, I placed my hand over America's knee.

"Please do something for him," I told him. And I didn't know why, but I said, "He's sad."

Clearly, Russia was enraged. He had been bristling slowly in his chains, as much as he could, and shifting his concealed jaw. But my words had frozen him. Russia paused all this and his face was swept clean. He took on a neutral expression that waited to be molded into something else.

America blinked, then kept his eyes closed. He slid around me and hugged Russia, holding him securely. Russia's glare flickered back on and he tried to pull back, but he could not move. America clung wordlessly until the fire faded in Russia's eye and his face returned to that neutral expression again. Russia did not know what to think, but America reached for the back of the beam and grasped it. He pulled himself closer and Russia glared, then erased his expression again.

 _It's a start_.

Maybe I could be that middle piece, the method for forgiveness and the one who could understand both sides, encouraging them to reconcile. Alone, I did not think that Russia would forgive America or that America would push himself to do the necessary steps. Words, here, were empty, even when I comprehended the rarity of America's _sorries_ to Russia.

America crept to me and tested if he could hug me without aggravating Russia. The neutral face examined him. In a smooth action, America felled me so that I lay against his chest. Arms more tender than last time, more dedicated, snaked around me. I had never remembered America having a feathery touch, but he handled me like I was a porcelain figure. He did not press, and it tickled instead, setting off tingles under my skin.

I peeked at Russia as I fell limp against America. The eye gazed over us, but it lacked the previous harshness. Fragility- yes, I had led America on the path to falling for it. I was what could not be ignored anymore. The time apart from me cursed him to release this affection over me, even in front of Russia. More than before, evidently intentional and caring.

Russia tilted his head slightly while America's back was to him. The purple was gentle, confused, and now, as sad as I had just claimed him to be. I might have known that this sorrow had been there inside him. America melted the longer that he held me on the cushion. Still, he did not cry like he should have, but this was good enough for now.

He had needed to do all that came next. He had needed to whisper again, how he had missed me. It appeared more genuine when he did. He lifted up the collar of my shirt and gazed at the bandage over my shoulder, then dropped the cloth and set his head over mine. Russia blinked slowly as America stroked my arm and murmured, "You… I said I cared about you… but I mean. No, like… I have to tell you. I never say it."

He had found a way to show strength in the fragility. America had not cried, but everything changed when he touched my forehead with his chin, then lips. I was struck in shock, inhaling and realizing that he had done something incredible. I fought to remember if he had ever done that to me before, but nothing came to mind. My face flipped up to catch his bright, blue eyes. They were honest and unhindered by any glasses as he admitted his final words to me.

"Canada… I'm happy to have you as my brother." America placed me back against his chest. "You know I love you, right?"

Russia's eye widened. The air was cleared of the electric tension as though the spring wind had swept through the basement, taking all away and leaving freshness. All seemed to have been made clear to him, about why I had suffered for America, why I had believed that he would change, why I had worked so hard with the stress and fear of being an impostor. America had not represented himself well during his initial apologies, yet now, Russia saw how America felt about him.

Russia murmured something, but none of us understood it from his cloth, throat, and especially from his lack of lips and cheek. He felt the hug he had been given now, and I knew because his eye fell closed in peace. America was not the one that had hurt him, in death or in his previous life. This America was the one that I had promised would come.

"Let's stay with Russia, tonight," I whispered.

"Yeah," America breathed. "I'll get more cushions, and blankets."

"It shouldn't smell so bad in the morning either. Not after all the cleaners we used."

"I don't mind even if it did. Besides, my stank was superior to any other. I can't complain."

I leaned against Russia and watched America pad up the stairs. The bends of his legs were all correct and their movements flowed naturally. He walked so easily that it was as though I was only watching the ghost of a memory wandering away.

France and Britain still left us in privacy, so when America came back with the cushions, I asked him about them. Reportedly, they were not up to much, but were sitting on his bed, talking and dealing with Britain's arm.

"Did you see what it looked like?" I asked.

"I didn't really see much. A little cut, but that was it."

"No colours?"

"Crap, were there colours before?"

I breathed, "His arm was broken, and purple."

"I didn't know about the purple part..."

"It was an infection."

"That bad?"

"Yeah," I replied with a gentle tone, seeing the remorse within his eyes to hear of just how badly he had hurt him. "I guess he didn't get to tell you yet, but… you were so toxic that you killed off all the bugs."

Russia leaned against the wooden beam. I heard the chains shift slightly, becoming reminded of him and that this conversation was wandering into uncomfortable territory for him. After all, more bugs would come for him and strip off his soft tissue. I recalled the hairy-legged swarm over America, how they had covered up the openings and deflated his eyes. How I had fainted at the sight of him, waking up to him crawling free from the chains.

"I must have looked horrible," America sighed and pressed in his shoulders. I thought that he might have been afraid, but he was trying to contain his emotions.

Russia was relieved of this insensitive conversation when it ended. America went to grab the blankets and some pillows, and I watched him walking again. We then nestled up on the cushions, where I was in the middle as to not overwhelm Russia with America. His presence was tolerated now, so we managed to start watching a movie quietly. Carefully, America wrapped blankets around me and him and cocooned us in warmth. I realized finally how cold the basement had been. He pulled the blankets tighter around us, and I pressed into the heat.

It was relaxing like a hot shower. The coldness in my veins drifted away and my muscles relaxed. This was nearly exactly how I had imagined our reunion to be. I had not expected the basement or Russia's predicament, but here we were cozied up as though there was nowhere else in the world we could be.

I had not meant to, but my eyes began flickering and my head bobbed in my fight to stay awake. America rubbed my back and worsened this condition, but I protested in a mumble, "No, I have to stay up…"

"You've been through so much today," America argued quietly. "I don't think anyone's gonna mind it if you sleep. I'll stay up for you."

I fought on, but it was so easy to leave my eyes closed, especially after the encouragement. I flopped against America as he continued to spread warmth over my back and arms with a caressing hand. I melted into the comfort, forgetting the cruelties of the basement, and fell asleep against America's shoulder. He had made it far too easy, and I never woke once when snuggled in. Despite what had happened to Russia, I slept so soundly against the returned heat of life that no nightmare roused me.

When I came to, the warmth was still thick. I stirred in a pile of blankets, and somewhere in them and still emanating heat for me, was America. He had fallen asleep at some point and left both of us curled up and lying on the cushions. Still snoozing, America loosely held me in the mess of crinkled blankets. I saw his ruffled hair, and the face that peeked out was innocent and gentle.

I rolled my head over and noticed Russia watching us, and I knew that he must have been watching for hours. There was no wrinkle across his skin, however, so he did not seem to have been bothered that America had fallen asleep. The affection that Russia had seen until this point must have affected him. Instead of seeing America's remorse, he found comfort in seeing America being tender to me.

 _It looks like he wants to see more of this_.

Still exhausted, I fell back down into the cushions and blankets, allowing Russia to relax and think pleasant thoughts. America's arm sought me and then draped itself over me. I breathed slowly until I extended my sleep, hearing a door at one point, but never waking up until later. By then, Russia appeared a little different, a little thicker, but huggable nonetheless.

Russia tried to say something: a question I deduced, from the intonation. I rubbed his arms and believed that he had asked about my sleep. He still worried about me and my nightmares, and seemed glad that I had passed the night peacefully. I cuddled and assured him, then headed upstairs and was not long in getting some breakfast.

France and Britain came downstairs to see Russia, and he did not seem to mind them anymore. America slunk out of bed while they asked Russia yes or no questions about how he felt. America went upstairs then came down with his laptop and phone, and never commented on Russia's changing appearance. We hung around Russia for a while, before America abandoned his work to sit beside Russia. I let him do it now, and sat on America's other side, supervising the encounter.

I had never seen America so warmhearted before. As time went on and I was able to observe him, I noticed how most of his time was spent holding or touching someone. He should have laughed at something or made fun of another by now, but America did not pester anyone. Russia would have been an easy target to mock because of the bloating, but America said nothing of it.

Britain started packing that evening for the next morning. The rest of us stayed downstairs and forgot about dinner while trying to entertain Russia with a teamwork card tower. It was disastrous of course, but Russia watched carefully without any creases on his face. When he blinked slowly, I knew that he was trying to express his contentedness. America kept coming back to him for embraces, and eventually Russia stopped flinching or recoiling entirely as his initial responses.

When France remembered dinner and tried to offer to bring us something, America declined. He had remembered the stomach inside him, and did not care to mind it now that he was holding Russia. There had been a line across his head briefly, but then Russia relaxed at America's response. He was impressed that America had been so considerate, and had even turned down food entirely.

 _America is being so kind now_.

Russia had difficulty moving, but it passed after a while. We played different games and tried to include Russia, and America and I slept on the floor beside him once again. Russia enjoyed watching, but America still did not oppose it. I could imagine his voice in my mind, calling Russia creepy for doing that, but that was not reality. Still, America hugged me and Russia, although the room was beginning to smell.

When Britain left, he reminded us that he would try to get travelling permission, but it would be difficult. He told us to watch Russia carefully and to keep him updated. I felt that Britain might have been relieved to go and busy himself, instead of staying in the basement and watching Russia fading and America's sorrowful, affectionate behaviour. No matter the case, it was just the three of us left to console Russia.

America missed meals now and then, and basically only ate after France and I made up other excuses to get him upstairs. America never left if it was for food, but if he was upstairs for something else, then he ate. He tried whatever he could to entertain and distract Russia, even playing Monopoly with him as previously suggested. Then, when America had found out about red sunflower, that the beautiful flower tucked in the guest room was special to Russia, he brought it down. The pot was set in front of Russia, who would then spend great periods of time regarding it instead of the TV.

"You really like it, huh?" America murmured. "But none of us knows what it does."

Russia loved the flower as he grew thinner and more pale. The basement was aired out with an open door and fans, then sprayed with air fresheners. Nevertheless, it was not best to stay down here for as long as we did. The three of us did though, and France was the one to go up into the fresh air the most in order to cook for us. Not that any of us desired to sit down around a table to eat together. All the food was frozen to be picked at later.

America usually ignored his phone until much later after he had gotten a pinging message. He did not want to rush for his phone and make Russia feel less significant. America had never been so skilled at reading the mood, but he tried so hard to please Russia. Even I was uncomfortable with hugging Russia now that he was reeking and turning soft, but America acted as though there was no change. As long as Russia felt and appreciated the attention, he touched him.

One of America's messages confused him. Knowing that I was at fault, he turned to me and asked, "Why do all the north dudes keep asking me to drink with them?"

"Oh, the Nordics?"

"Yeah, them. They're asking when I'm available and if I can convince Russia to have a rematch against Finland…"

"So that's why your phone is always going off…" I breathed. "Well, Finland was unhappy that Russia won. He says it wasn't fair because he was drinking a lot of vodka before he started the contest against Russia."

Above Russia's paling eye, the shape of his eyebrow hinted that he was amused. America demanded quietly, "Man, Canada, did you really become such a popular party animal while I was out of it?"

"I tried to make you some friends… that's all."

America chuckled and thanked me with hugs, his new form of communication. He replied to the newest of messages, then tossed the phone onto the cushion before wiggling back to Russia's side. Throughout the days, he had been so preoccupied with Russia that he had been forgetting his other chores. He thought it was fine like this, not doing his work, hardly messaging anyone, and not even bothering to fix the broken doors yet. In the end, the quiet helper tended to it. France bought everything and he installed the new doors himself; we heard him upstairs using the tools from the basement, but we stayed where we were and did not see how they looked until much later.

France was thanked, of course, because everything ran smoothly when he was around. Behind our backs, messes disappeared. My kitchen was spotless, the carpet had been shampooed, and all walls were cleaned. There was not a spot of blood to be found, and he managed to keep America's home smelling decent. Even while we slept, the floor around Russia was always clean by the morning, and all the games were packed up and stacked to the side. There must have been even more things that France was doing, but since he did not expect praise, we never found out exactly all that he did.

America had taken one job, however. The flower pot remained on one side of Russia's outstretched legs, and America would always take water to it shortly after he woke up every morning. Russia would watch him in a tranquil state, perhaps trying to smile under the cloth that covered his mouth. The strong, blooming life that brightened the basement with its fiery colours had raised Russia's mood since it had been brought to him. I wondered when the happiness would twist, then discovered that it was already underway.

Russia was going blind, and there was nothing we could do for him. His eyes were glazing over, and America must have known although he said nothing. Russia's body sucked itself up as America's had done before, and he started reacting less to outside stimuli. He still looked at the flower and at us even as we faded further away. The TV was ignored completely and we turned it off, but Russia preferred watching us anyway. He checked where we were, looked down when hugged, and tried to overlook our games. It was harder to get him to nod to our questions, however, when he could not hear well.

It was during one of our sleeps when the bugs started to come. Russia didn't react to the bugs as they began to nibble. It was only a few specks or spindly-legged creatures, so he had not sensed them at all. I sprayed Russia with Raid, coating him and informing America that I had done the same for him before. I just didn't mention in front of Russia that it had never made a significant difference.

America noticed quickly that the bugs just came back. Seeing the shiny, black dots beginning to crawl over Russia came as another fierce reminder that he was dead. At times the rot had assured him of this truth, but he continuously was desensitized to it and forgot a little. But the insects was another realm entirely. The stress welled up within him, and America understood the same helplessness that I had faced before. Desperate, he sprayed Russia around the clock. Soon after, America shocked me as he sat cross-legged beside him, starting to pluck off insects and crush them.

The miniscule bodies smeared greasy, black and green stains across his fingers. Yet America maintained only a frightened expression as he tried to get the bugs off Russia. The bugs confirmed what he had done- they pounded the guilt into him that he had killed Russia and had made him into their feast. America's eyes then took on a strange light, and he sat and squashed the bugs in that demented state of determination. France cringed and let him do as he wanted, believing along with me that America needed to do this. America needed to feel like he had some sort of control over Russia's state, despite how he would fade away eventually.

It was not the fault of the bugs when Russia rotted and went blind in the end. Wretched from this development, America tried to show him that the flower was still there. Russia shifted to his words, and he curled his toes when America lifted the pot to touch it to him. The effort to just do something to alleviate Russia's sorrow clutched our hearts, more so for we knew that the end was near. Russia was growing deaf. We had to talk louder and louder so that Russia would hear us, but soon, even yelling had no effect.

Russia gazed ahead while America put the flower to his face. Russia tilted his head and rubbed his cheek against the silky texture of the curved petals. This was about the only sign of consciousness that Russia demonstrated, blind and deaf as he was now. When Russia was barely able to move and only able to feel, America was profoundly stricken. Without warning, he confronted France with a question that I had never dared to ask before.

"Can we just unlock the chains for a little while?" America begged him while poised before Russia. "Just for a few minutes… He won't hurt anyone."

There was a thinness in America's voice that prodded our hearts. I do not remember ever hearing him plead like this for another person. France murmured to not tell Britain, before he unlocked the chains and allowed them to collapse to the floor. Russia, who felt the tension disappear along with the weight of the metal, shifted to test his new freedom. America took one of the hands that had been freed, a discoloured and repugnant appendage, and guided it to the flower.

Russia stopped all other movements and directed his fingers over the stalk with wide eyes. Although free, he did not try to get up or leave the beam. He knew that he was meant to stay, but he reached out his other hand and tried to find someone. The back of that hand was torn and gruesome, the skin gone to show the squishiness of the insides. America did not mind when the fingers found his shoulder. Bottom lip quivering, he shifted even closer to Russia. Russia ignored the plant and took America into a full and wholesome hug while he could.

But Russia was unsure of who was there. His voice was muffled and warbled, but he said something that sounded like, " _Kaan_?"

"No, no…" America whined, pulling back his head and vainly holding his pained face before Russia's blind eye. "It's me… It's America."

I bit my lip and waited with my breath held. America had been more attached to Russia than I had been recently, yet still he expected me in his final moments. I placed my hand on his back, a third hand- surely, I thought, he would know that there were more than one of us here. France understood, and dropped onto Russia's other side. All of our hands found him, letting him know.

Russia wrapped soft arms around whoever he believed was in front of him. He murmured something behind the cloth, but it was impossible to decipher his words and it wasn't the bandage's fault. We thought he said my name again, so more creases appeared on America's forehead and around his eyes. He squeezed Russia and buried himself into him, trying convince him.

"Russia…" His voice was tightening. "No, I'm here for you… I'm sorry, oh god... _I'm so sorry_ …"

His breaths and dialogue were becoming shorter. I recognized this strain and turned my face to watch his as it wrinkled further. America trembled and bent, his fingers curled and gripped Russia securely, and tears welled up in his eyes. There was no hiding himself now from him. America's throat bobbed before tears flashed down his cheeks. His quivering increased, then his back jolted.

America's lips parted to let out a breath that rocked on the waves of a whimper. Small and vulnerable squeaks and whines came out now that it was impossible to speak. France and I looked up just as America rose up on his knees and smacked his teary cheek against Russia's decayed one. Quaking more heavily and raining tears until he was sobbing, America made sure that Russia _felt_ these tears, even if he couldn't see or hear him.

But I did not know who Russia thought was crying against him. The way America was behaving now was like , now he was my impostor, breaking down in Russia's arms and letting the tears splash against him. Russia mumbled and touched America's cheek to brush away some of those tears. A putrid smear was left, and immediately fresh tears streaked over it. Russia dropped his hand back down, realizing the foul state of his flesh and how it was not suited for this.

America did not pay it any mind. He wailed and coughed into Russia while I watched on in stunned awe. It was all awful and yet, I could not look away as America was overtaken by raw grief, sobbing and shaking like I had never seen him before. He looked smaller too now, but I guess we all looked small when we cried like this. All I wanted to do was protect him and hold him in my arms, but there was no moving him now.

We rubbed our hands over Russia while America stayed and cried for however long it would take. Russia felt America's tears until he could no longer feel us there at all. Russia's arms slackened and he whispered some words. Nothing of it sounded like America's name. America dropped his hands against Russia's bumpy chest to continue crying. I watched each tear form then flee over his eyelid, and I carefully observed his red face. Struggling, he still tried to speak to Russia, but he just could not get any words out through his twitching lips.

Russia's hands fell further down America. France waited a bit longer, then whispered, "We have to put the chains back on, America. He won't be the same person in the morning."

America hesitated, and for one terrible and long moment, I thought that he was going to refuse. America flashed his saturated eyes at us, then shifted back. We wrapped the chains around Russia and clicked the locks back in place, before America dove into Russia once more.

Russia didn't seem to know that he had been locked up at first. He arms moved and tried to perform an action, but they just could not rise anymore. He bowed his head and left his bandaged cheek on America's hair once he had realized what had happened. Both were frozen like this for a long time while the rest of us kept our hands on Russia. Russia closed his eye and hung his head as though he had fallen asleep, cozy where he was. He moved slightly occasionally after, but at some point, he had stopped moving. Russia hung without purpose, no longer aware of the one that was holding him.

America noticed soon afterwards. We watched him with ringed eyes as he shook Russia, but gained no response from him. Choking, America moved his face between his hands, but Russia did not even open his eye to him. Eventually, it would open, but not for any of us. The blind eye was more dull in the way that there was no thought, feeling, or life behind it. It stared through America, unable to see the twitching lip and soaked face before it.

"Russia…" And America broke down, but it had all been too late. In not showing his tears earlier, Russia had thought they had been mine. It was too much for America to handle, so now his crying was turning to screeching.

Through his raspy breathing, it was hard to understand him. But the message was soon pieced together from the stuttered scraps of vocabulary.

" _I killed him! Oh god, Russia is dead and it is all my fault!_ _I hurt everyone. Why couldn't I stop myself? How could I have done this?_ "

France tried to reach out to America, to calm him, but his spirit was too far to be found. The longer he stared at Russia's fallen and vacant face, the worse it got. Crying ourselves, we attempted to pry off America to leave this cold room. America clung tighter to Russia. A longer period of sobbing was necessary before he could be torn off and collected blubbering into us.

" _I never wanted to kill Russia_ ," he had squeezed out from himself over the course of a minute. " _Not really… This is so horrible. Russia..._ "

Although he was borne upstairs, there was still no reaching his lacerated heart. America suffered so profoundly all at once, showing us how he had been hiding it within him until now. Guilt, pure guilt that I knew just would not disappear as long as I was marked and Russia was dead.

* * *

I knew that in however many days or weeks it would take, America was never going to fully recover from this. I had been correct, and it was like having a feeble ghost floating through the home. This ghost rarely ate and had therefore lost a considerable amount of weight. It did not sleep well either, worse than the rest of us did. It did not react to comforting touches; those were ignored in the sense that they were not felt.

It did not seem to have a purpose, although some chores where done. The blank face watered Russia's flower and worked, while usually avoiding its own home. Far from the corpse, this ghost haunted my home, occupying the couch or lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling in the late hours.

America understood the full impact of Russia's death now that he had lost consciousness. He had visited Russia only once a few days later, hoping that Russia was back, only to find a thin creature that leaned toward him and moaned awfully. Spooked, he had never returned to face the monster that had taken Russia's dead body.

France and I wrote to Britain about America's condition. As hard as Britain tried, he just could not make it to India yet. Wishing to help America, we tried putting Britain on the phone with him. I never knew what they talked about, but he could only cheer up America a little bit, and after they hung up, the light in America faded by the minutes.

We wondered how we could help America recover during this time. Even our healed injuries did not satisfy him. The deepest pain was knowing that he had successfully murdered someone that he had not treated well in life, and had stolen some organs from him so that he could live. America kept his hands over his ribs sometimes with his eyes tightly closed. He could stay in a ball like this for an hour.

And undoubtedly, America was troubled by how it had ended.

"Russia didn't know it was him," I whispered to Britain. I sat on my bed while France and America remained in my living room. "America tried to let him feel his tears, but it was too late… Russia just thought it was me."

"Oh, America… America…" Britain breathed back. "He becomes sadder by the day. I've never seen him like this before."

I pressed the phone to my ear and closed my eyes. "He won't ever be happy until Russia is cured."

"I know… I'm sorry…"

"Isn't there at least something that can we do?"

"I don't know."

Britain had sounded so pained and unsure himself. I hung up and later that night, I tried holding America before we lay down to sleep. He nuzzled me wearily, then dropped under the sheets and turned his back to me.

"Goodnight, America."

There was a period of silence before he registered my words. America would not forget me in his sorrow, so he made sure to murmur back, "Night…"

But the days became more and more unbearable. I just couldn't find a solution to his pain, especially after America came across the cards that I had made with Russia. In the reveal of Russia's kinder and playful side, the guilt overwhelmed him. I hid the cards with the sketches and words, but there was no eliminating his memories.

Yet on the next morning, my doorbell rang. Startled, I rushed to answer the door and found a few people formally dressed while the one in front held out a box to me. They had been sent to specially deliver it to me, something from Britain. I hastened to take the box inside, but I was certain that it did not include the final ingredients. No, Britain would have surely told us excitedly if he had finished everything.

America had not realized the excitement while he was in the shower, but France was at the table as I opened the box.

"What is that?" he asked.

His wavy hair hung like curtains as he bent over and carefully watched the opening box. With France looming beside me, I lifted out a plastic container that contained pulp floating in water. On top, there was a note taped to the lid.

 _I have never tried this before, but it might help. Pour about a quarter of this over his head. If nothing happens, use more. If a quarter is enough, try to spare the amount to last until I find the final ingredients._

 _These two plants help heal the brain and the eyes. I hope that if I can temporarily restore Russia's consciousness, America can get his chance. But I don't know if it will do any good when the rest of Russia's body is broken. It definitely will not heal the rest of him, so don't start getting the wrong idea. Also, do not tell America about my idea unless it works. You can't get his hopes up._

 _And of course, stay strong, all of you. We're almost through this._

After we had shifted our eyes over the note a few times, France said, "If Britain wants us to use it, then we should try it right away."

Hurrying so that we would avoid America, we fetched a small measuring cup and took the container down into the basement. Russia reacted, leaning forward and clucking as insects crept out from under the sleeves of his pants. I held the unlidded container as France dipped in the measuring cup. He filled it and took the amount that Britain had directed us to, then he held it over Russia's head. Unaware of what was hovering over him, Russia only looked forward to where he sensed France to be.

France turned the cup and poured the liquid over him. His hair was drenched in purple and the stained drops ran down his face, but then the colours all faded in nearly an instant. Even the dampness vanished, and it was as though France had poured nothing at all. His cup was empty, however, and France looked from it to Russia, then to it again.

The only sign of a change was with Russia's eye. The clouded blindness cleared and the normal colour of his iris returned. I assumed that he had gotten back his other eye, but it was covered still by the bandages. The purple that returned glanced around, to us then to the chains that bound its owner.

I lifted my hand and waved to try to get Russia's attention. His eye locked onto me but with a full and intense stare that I had not expected. He leaned forward again and pulled the chains taut, making no effort to speak to me. France followed Britain's instructions, and poured another cup over him. After a few seconds, Russia paused. The chains were glanced at again, with a new consideration, then he moved slowly to the side.

Russia looked up to us, although his eye was still wide and strange. It was healed, but he looked sickly even when ignoring the state of rot of his skin. He was quiet and did not struggle anymore, and kept looking between the two of us. I felt that he was thinking of something, but he did not try to communicate anything to us.

If Russia could see and think again, I assumed that he would have expressed some positive emotion to us. I wondered if he was sad or angry with us again, but with that decayed, gray and purple flesh, I could not make out any clear emotion. Sick was all he looked, and sick was all he felt. From my memories, I remembered that terrible feeling of illness and emptiness.

 _Is Russia suffering now?_

Yet Russia did not moan or reveal any discomfort. My hands tried to urge Russia to do something, but he stared at us intently, and the longer he looked, the more uncomfortable I became.

"We might need to add more…" France murmured. "But, we'll call Britain first."

We left the container and took the time to contact him. France spoke to him on the phone quietly on America's usually abandoned side. I sat beside him in the living room that stank of stale rot, waiting and hearing the sounds of agreement. Britain called for a continuation, until Russia truly reacted to us. We could use the entire dose if necessary, if half only made Russia stare at us.

France applied three-fourths, and Russia did not change his attitude. After the entire potion had been dropped on him, Russia still did not do more than look at the gestures of our hands.  
"It must not have been enough," France sighed. "If he can, Britain will have to send more…"

I stepped back and turned on the TV while France regarded him. An infomercial came on and blared out behind us, startling France and casting glaring lights over the cold surfaces of the room. Russia never shifted his attention from us to the TV. Feeling the hairs rising on my back and arms, I turned it off and hastily retreated with France out of the basement.

"But I don't understand…" I whispered as we locked up the door. "The way he wrote it, shouldn't Russia's brain be completely healed now? Why didn't he change?"

"I am not sure if I am the person to ask that to," he replied. "But I get what you are saying… although I can't think of an answer. Maybe he did not send the full amount?"

It was clear that none of us thought that Britain had made a mistake. Perhaps it had been purposeful, yet I could see fathom why Britain would not heal Russia's brain completely. He might have run out of supplies; it was all that I could think of.

 _Yet his eyes completely healed…_

When we snuck back to my side, America was working on the couch. His back was turned to us, and he did not ask us why we had both gone. Without even passing us a greeting, he trained his weary eyes on the task on screen.

None of us mentioned Russia. France and I stole glances at each other throughout the day, especially after Britain sent us confused answers. We had to assure him over and over, that we had done everything that he had said. He insisted that Russia should have had his mind back now, and he could not comprehend why Russia had only stared at us.

 _Check on Russia tonight_ , Britain had written to us. _See if he had needed more time for some reason?_

Britain was not sure in his answer, but in the evening, I followed France into the basement. The light was switch was flicked in passing, dimly illuminating the stairs and allowing the click of life to echo as the only sound coming from the freezing room. It was quiet, utterly silent. No chain moved, so I thought that with his sight, maybe Russia needed to see us to know that we were there.

Then, I thought, _No, no- he can see that we turned on the light. If he isn't trying to get to us, then maybe he really is better now?_

The beam was dark and the metal of the chains gleamed with an eerie shine. Russia sat still with his legs lying straight out before him, relaxed, although his head was already turned to us. As we came closer, he remained silent and still, watching without ever blinking. The silence pulled at our hairs again, making them rise and setting a shiver into our skin. When I saw France clenching his muscles and quivering, I knew that he too, sensed that something was off.

Russia was weak and bound, but the fear was like a rabbit darting within our hearts. He was calm though and appeared to have entirely lost his lust for blood. America's moaning and black-mouthed snaps had once allowed terror to possess my nerves, but in a way I could not describe, _this_ frightened me more.

It wasn't until we walked closer that we realized the logic to our fear. We froze together, stuck to each other's sides, and shuddered before the creature that stared at us unendingly with its sick eye. There was a section of the chains that did not gleam, and that was the inner side of the metal around his front. The outside was clean, yet the inside was lined with red, black, and cotton that clung to the chains and dulled its gleam.

The sweater which Russia bore was worn down, new by the throat, and torn into ghastly shreds the further down the cloth went. In the select gaps between the chains, we saw how the sweater had been rubbed away by biting steel. Then, we saw how Russia's front was now raw and soiled with the black grease of old blood, flesh, and organs.

His stitches had been torn apart, and his innards were now grazed and lacerated from vicious rubbing against the chains. However, he did not look as though he had any interest in escaping his binds now that eyes were upon him. It was so, as we observed him in shock, that Russia did not writhe and harm himself, but remained... absolutely still.


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry it took so long to write this short chapter. In all honesty, I was not feeling motivated to write although I had the plan all written out. I put it off for so long and went days without even touching the story, which is unusual for me.**

 **Nevertheless, I hope to finish the story soon. I think there will be another chapter plus or minus an epilogue.**

* * *

"Oh my god," I whispered. I could hardly think of anything else to say. "Oh my god…"

We gawked while Russia continued to watch us with a wide and dull eye. France twitched and grabbed my arm, then yanked me back up the stairs with him. Moments later, he had Britain back on the phone. France stalked in mechanical circles around America's kitchen, leaving me to observe his stressed expression and hear his pointed, desperate words.

"Something's gone wrong! We did everything you said, we waited, and then… Russia's trying to escape but not when anyone's watching. No, he seems to be smart somehow although he won't react to anything we say! We went downstairs and the chains were covered in… He must have been going nuts, but all he did was _stare_ at us, Britain!"

I didn't understand why Britain hadn't said anything yet. He should have interrupted by now, given a solution… My dread only continued to escalate.

"So what do we do now?" France dropped his voice to a wretched whisper. "We don't know what he's thinking… but he wants out. I think he wants to hurt us."

 _Say something already, Britain_!

France went on, "Y-you said he would have his mind back, but after everything…Was it not enough? Maybe you should send us more!"

Then came the pause in his speech. In the few seconds that passed, his eyes grew wider and wider. He halted his pacing and his hand gripped the counter, tightening as he whispered, "What do you mean? No… You don't make mistakes…"

I approached cautiously, inhaling, "What did he do? Wh-wha-"

"Why didn't it?" France quivered. "Did you give him the wrong-"

He paused again for a while.

"C-can we fix this?" He then said.

When I got close enough, the voice leaking through the phone became clear.

"There's nothing that can reverse it…" Britain breathed hoarsely. "But you must do whatever it takes to keep yourselves safe. I'm so sorry… this is all my fault. Russia will do anything in his power to get you now. You have to stay safe! There's… there's no more second chances. I can't save anyone else if they die now."

The exhale that escaped me wavered. I showed the whites of my eyes as I glanced to France, who was already looking back to me. He shook his head, murmured that we would do all that he said, then hung up.

"Canada-"

"I understand. We'll do what we have to."

France sighed, then showed me his gratitude through his eyes. He said, "We only have to do something about America. Can you get him out of the house so that he doesn't hear…?"

"Alright," I murmured.

"Remember, you can't tell-"

I breathed, "I know."

I wondered what America was doing now, oblivious to all that had happened. We had taken advantage of his solo trip to the grocery store, and he should have still been there. When I pushed one of the new doors open, it glided over the floor silently. Peeking into the room, I saw that all was clear. We slipped inside and locked the door as though we had never touched that defining border.

"Ask him to go to a movie," France suggested in a murmur. "He needs to get out anyway."

I sat onto the couch in defeat. He would be driven to go however, if I seemed enthusiastic enough while showing him some movies times on a screen. Then it would be for "my" sake.

 _But it's a bit of a lie. It's a trick…_

All I could do was make him happy. It was a break, that could not be denied. Yet now I was behaving as Britain had before to me. Hiding important details for the greater good…

 _I'll do it. I won't fail them again._

I prepared myself for America's return. The options and times glowed over my face, and my hands were pale. Still, I turned the computer to him when he entered the room. France was watching, but I managed to whisper, "Let's see something tonight, America. It's been a while."

"What's that?" He came near. "A movie?"

"Yeah… Whatever you want."

"Oh, sure…" he answered softly, leaning in to see what was offered.

"I'll buy your snacks…"

"No, that's fine… I got it," he exhaled absentmindedly, then pointed at the screen. "How about this?"

It would start in an hour. We would leave sooner than then. Without looking at France, I confirmed the plan with my affirmation to my brother.

* * *

America's hands had so contentedly taken the crinkling bag of overflowing, golden-specked popcorn. It had been a while since he had been so carefree, so long since he had even tasted this. He hadn't been eating well for so long, but now I was carrying our cold drinks and hearing the rattling of the ice cubes along with my steps. My heart pounded as we headed up the stairs, searching for seats, and the plastic-wrapped 3D glasses felt strange in my hand after America had passed them to me.

It was easier to hide my face in the darkness and behind the glasses. My fingers needed to be restrained, however, from drumming or grasping my clothes. I constantly thought about what France was doing now. Fear started to spread inside me as I remembered how Russia had been. His creepy stare held a dark intelligence within; he was no longer the mindless zombie that both he and America had been before. That _I_ had been.

No one had ever encountered this.

 _France had been scared on the phone… Despite what he said, Britain has made a mistake. Britain. He told us to keep going, but I was he's been given too much. What if France isn't okay?_

I snuck my phone out of my pocket, but the screen was bright. America nudged me and lightly teased, "Turn off your phone, bro!"

I placed the phone at my hip, covering the light the best I could with one hand as I tapped away with my thumb. I ignored America and sent a message to France, although I knew that even if he didn't respond, he could have been fine. He might have been too busy with his gruesome job to consider responding with his soiled fingers.

I hoped, but France never did reply. I was left in utter ignorance as I pressed into my seat and trained my eyes on the screen. The beginning of the movie was filled with screeching cars, yelling, and banging; I sweated and stared at the entrances below, waiting for a corpse to crash in and add to the sounds of chaos. What if Russia _had_ escaped and was on his way now, sprinting to our location?

"Are you okay, Canada?"

America had been staring at me.

"Y-yeah… the movie's just exciting."

America's face wrinkled in skepticism. "I've never seen you react like this before…"

"I was just thinking of Russia."

"Wh- ah..."

America kept looking at me, continuing to pin me down in this discomfort. He eventually said, "Because we left France with him?"

I shrugged, unable to answer.

"Russia isn't that strong yet, right?" he whispered. "And France knows where that gun is."

I nodded slowly.

America sighed, "Do you want to go home?"

I jolted. "Oh- no, no… It's fine. Let's finish watching the movie."

It was difficult for America to get back into the movie, but he seemed to after some more minutes of staring and multiple side glances towards me. The only thing that was different was that he had stopped eating the popcorn. When the villains turned out to be Russian, he later set the entire bag into my lap. I couldn't eat it either. The constant reminder on screen, the word _Russia_ or _Russians_ repeated over and over started a sour churning in my stomach.

There was still no reply from France, and no monster had crashed into the theater room. The credits came, and we sat until the end to catch the final scene. It was incredibly stressful for me to bear the wait, but then we were on route home with me driving at a speed slightly higher than normal.

America set the remains of the popcorn onto my counter. I looked from him in the kitchen, then to France sitting on the couch facing the TV. Trying not to seem too suspicious, I strolled over to France and that pale, ill expression of his while America was out of the room.

"So-"

"It's done," he sighed under his breath.

That was all we could say before America came back.

"Yo France, what's with that face?" he asked while swinging around to France's other side. France froze, but he was given no time to answer for America gasped and grabbed at his collar. "Holy shit, what happened?"

I leaned forward and glimpsed the fresh bandage pasted to the side of France's neck, as exposed further by the pulling of his shirt. France pressed on America's hands, but he had already seen.

"Russia bit you!" he cried.

I stared at France and felt the pulling of my muscles as my eyes expanded. Russia's face had been bandaged. He shouldn't have been able to have bitten him.

"How strong is he?" America demanded. "Why didn't you say anything before? Did he escape? C-Canada- is this why you were acting strange? Did you know? Hey- why didn't anyone tell me if he's dangerous?"

"He didn't escape," France muttered. "He did this when I undid his chains. Russia was angry... I had already cut off his legs, but he did everything he could to stop me from continuing. He wasn't strong enough though."

"Angry?" I whispered. "Did you say-"

" _What_?" America hollered. He shot us both with an intensely sharp, serious stare. "You did all that without telling _me_? What gives! So you were in on this too, Canada? Why? What was the point in hiding all this from me? He was dangerous!"

I scrunched up, unable to handle the guilt as he loomed over me, bristling.

"I'm sorry…" I whispered.

France said, "No one wanted you to worry for him. Not after how it had ended for you two."

"That's bullshit! It's more important to know when you guys, _living_ people, are in danger! How I am supposed to protect anyone if I don't know what's going on in my own home? I should have been the one to do it! You don't think I could handle it? I'm not a sensitive coward hiding under a blanket while y'all just risk your own safety! I am this world's hero- I do the fighting and take the risks, so where's the respect? Goddamn it, how could you do this to me and then make me look at this injury? I should have been there!"

His anger slapped me with the realization that we had been treating America too gently. He was right- he was used to bearing responsibility and acting as a powerful protector for others. When push came to shove, he could handle this.

"Sorry…" I repeated. "It's… it was because there was something else that happened. We were trying to cure him a little… so he could see you again. Britain sent something for his brain and eyes… but something went wrong. Russia got smarter and started trying to escape. I took you away to distract you, so that France could chop him up without you knowing…"

America boiled in his rage. "How could you do that without even telling me? Show me him! Russia- right now!"

Not that he needed us to escort him. He snapped toward the doors and threw them both open. After the band, he entered through the wide mouth and marched to the basement door. Becoming a weak shadow of guilt, I tailed him as he thumped down the stairs to behold the lowest level. France had tried to mop the floors, but there was still a thin layer of blood draped over everything. The beam was abandoned now, and the chains were crumpled around it in defeat. In separate corners of the room were two garbage bags, puddles formed underneath them where they had leaked.

One of those bags stirred.

America took in a wavering breath. I sensed tears in it, that he was holding himself back from crying, but he snapped back to us.

"I could have helped you," he pressed, a slow tautness to every word. "Even if it's hard, I would have done it so that you guys would be safe."

The bag was still now.

America abandoned the scene with a grimace and with tears gleaming in the corners of his eyes. I followed him with my own tears fleeing from mine. My brother hated me right now and what I had done. At the top of the stairs, I dove into him but hugged gently. My mind pleaded with him to not be angry, and my tongue freed itself, letting woeful sorries slide off like melted butter.

It was not long before he held me back just as softly and started running a hand down the back of my head. Since I had stopped cutting and gelling my hair, it was softer and longer than before. There was more to work with, and more reason for me to go limp into him and cry more from the pleasant feeling.

"Hey, don't cry," America murmured. "Come on, I hate making you cry… It's okay."

I heard France closing and locking the door. America shambled backwards, keeping me in his hold as we walked back to my home. I paused my crying and dabbed my face with my wrist, then looked up to where we were walking. We sat on the couch, that location haunted by past emotions, and America sighed and hugged me for a while longer.

"Well, it's done," he exhaled. "At least no one was seriously hurt… Is it deep, France? Will it get infected?"

"It is deep, but he isn't toxic. A little infection, but it won't be like Britain's."

"Alright."

"But he didn't bite me," France said. "He used his fingers."

I whispered, "He didn't want your blood?"

"It seemed more like he wanted to hurt me," France admitted. "I had the feeling that he wanted to choke me, so I moved. He grabbed what he could and squeezed and dug deep."

America muttered, "Then he wasn't interested in taking what you have. That's what you're saying, right? When you made him smarter, he's thinking and not acting desperate."

"That's why Britain told us to do this," France replied. "Although weak, we have no experience with a case like Russia's. That makes him more dangerous than you were."

"So then what?" America asked. "We just leave him like that and sit around until Britain shows up?"

"Yes."

"Damn. That could be another week, two, hell…"

"It won't be that long," France said. "Britain knows that we can only keep Russia here for the amount of time he said. If Russia doesn't come home, then there will be an investigation."

"China was already asking me about him, and that was just this morning. Said that Russia wasn't returning his messages. Man, I wanted to make an excuse but I couldn't come up with something. If I said something like he's on a trip with Canada, he would see that Canada was just online. Getting a little stressed when not only him, but other nations are asking about Russia. Everyone knows he's visiting me. Can you imagine how the world would react if they think that I killed Russia? As though it was intentional? Not only am I damn afraid that Russia will attack us, but that someone's going to start a war over this."

"We all know that," France assured him. "Britain will come here-"

"Britain just made things worse," America uttered. "What if he doesn't come in time? What if he can't find what he has to find or he doesn't get the right amount?"

"It was just one mistake," France admitted. "But there are countless things that he has done right! He cured you, didn't he? He would have done it without Russia dying. If Canada had just not… If everyone had let Britain do what he wanted-"

My heart plummeted. I had expected this, but I had been so quick to accept the blanket of comfort that his cheap words had earlier provided for me.

"So it is my fault," I whispered. "Russia's dead because of me… Britain got hurt, you got hurt… because I didn't let Britain do what he wanted."

I shook and slapped my hands to my face. This was not the truth that I wanted, but it was clear that they thought that many things were my fault. They had only been blaming it on America to spare me of this pain.

When my whisper cracked into a sob, France glided to me and sighed, "Canada, don't be so hard on yourself. We know why you did everything you did. I would have done the same thing too."

I dropped my hands and whimpered. America hugged me tight while I listened to France's words.

"No one would tell you the truth about what was going on, just after your brother died. It was hard for you, to be so sad, scared, and confused. And it was hard when you had to act like you were your dead brother and receive no credit for all of your hard work. You were scared and no one, even me, knew that you were the one who deserved our attention. And of course you were upset when we wanted to hurt America. You just found out about your own death, you remembered how it was, and you knew that America could feel pain too. It doesn't matter if it is your fault. So please, Canada…"

"Hey," America nudged me. "No one hates you for what you did. Russia won't be mad at you. No one will be."

I sniffed, "You j-just were…"

"No, I'm sorry. I get it, so I'm not mad at you."

"B-but the war-"

"Forget what I said. Britain will come back in time."

I protested with my cracking voice, "H-how can you just forgive everything?"

France exhaled, "We've all had our part to play. I have my own guilts about the past too, you know. It isn't easy and we can't see the future. Everyone just wants to do their best for everyone else. As the saying goes, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

I wiped away the last of my tears. America's voice slowly swung into a more encouraging chime. "Come on, Canada. Let's be a little happier and do something fun. The movie was alright really, but let's do something genuine. Like even Russia, in his right mind, probably didn't like you sad. You played lots of games with him right?"

"Yeah… We used your Xbox…"

"See, you should be allowed to do things like that while I was dead. So do it now, maybe not Xbox, but at least take it easy. It's been months!"

"What can we do then?" I breathed, understanding that the idea was fine but still caught up in our previous conversation.

"Now? Like right now? We could start with a walk. Looks like it started snowing a little."

A walk was not so demanding. It could help take away the images which were taped to my eyes, images of two garbage bags with one that shifted.

The way France's face lit up slightly showed that he liked the tentative idea.

"Okay then." I produced a final, deep sniff. "I'll get ready."

* * *

"Oi, Canada," America murmured to me. I rolled over in the bed and shielded my eyes from the white glare of his phone coming from over his shoulder.

"What is it?"

"If I went out with some other guys, would you tag along?"

"You mean drinking?"

"Course."

I placed my palm over my yawning mouth. "Who?"

"The dudes you partied hard with. They want to meet up and do something."

My tired mind was too thick for this and I cursed him for staying up so late then waking me. "Who?" I mumbled.

"Norths and some other small nations trying to get in on this."

"Do you mean the Nordics?"

"Yeah. Then some others. The convo grew a bit from Estonia to Latvia… that's it so far, but they'll probably increase. You in?"

"When? Where?" I cracked my ankles when I stretched.

"Europe I guess. This week?"

"Shouldn't you be working?"

America replied, "Probs fine."

"I think I have to go to Ottawa."

"We could go after."

"So you really want me to come then?"

He answered, "Yeah of course… Why not?"

The corners of my lips twitched upwards. I curl back up into the bed and sighed, "Alright then… thank you."

"I'll add you then." I could hear America smiling too. "Thanks. I'll let you sleep now."

* * *

That had been the middle of the week when he had asked me. Since then, no one had seen the bag move again. Also since then, the group had increased to include Lithuania and Poland, and then Belarus. She asked if Russia would come. When America "reported" that it was a bad time for Russia, Finland insisted that they modify the schedule so that he could come. Belarus demanded to Skype with Russia and rang America's phone, insisting that he never responded to her calls anymore. America did not answer it.

Ukraine was added, and soon she had also asked about Russia. Poland showed a vague interest in why Russia never even replied to something he had sent. Desperate, America asked for my help. I sent the first thing that I had ever sent to the group. It was a picture of Russia with his eyes sharp and directed forward in concentration, an Xbox controller in his hands. One of the few pictures that I had taken on a whim and kept saved to myself during the days he was with me.

Thinking it was a picture of the present time, they halted their questions. America had written a simple sentence underneath the picture.

 _Sorry, too busy fighting a wither with my bro, Canada_

* * *

Early on the next day, France burst into my bedroom. We had both been sleeping and curled in the pockets of warmth under the blankets. Startled into sitting positions, we received the news that Britain had arrived in India. The excitement carried into all of our conversations that day, words of cheer popping up with clenched fists at random occasions.

America was sharing a clementine with me while France checked on Russia. America was not so gloomy as he did that, but instead underwent a rush of optimism.

"Oh man!" he smiled. "Won't be long now! He'll be on time, we'll get Russia back- he might be able to go drinking with us after all!"

A door slammed behind us. France's footsteps pounded to our location, then he gasped, "We have to buy new chains!"

I yelped, "What, but- didn't you-"

"Russia bit through the bag! I came down and his torso was on the floor, staring… He rolled towards me-" France shivered at the memory. "I hit him with the shovel. I know he doesn't have any limbs, but we can't have him loose like he is now. Not when he is this strong and smart."

"I know where to go." I abandoned the peels and hurried to my wallet. "Someone can come with me to help-"

"I will," America decided.

With that, we departed. Once we had returned, we were led to the basement with strands of the long chain taunt in our hands. Coming down the stairs, we were confronted by a snarl that echoed throughout the room. The precise whereabouts were unknown, but then we heard a tussle as something slid over the stone.

 _Rolling_.

It got quiet for a full, dire moment. America stepped down the stairs ahead of me, stopping near the bottom and peeking around the wall. Immediately he let out a long squeak and hollered, "What t'fuck!"

A black face marked with dangling, moldy bandages leaned over the edge of the stairs, dropping down faster than he could react. There was no skin and on the revealed patch of its lower face, so a jaw of yellow-stained bone was free to snap closed on America's ankle. He screeched in absolute pain and terror, kicking his foot wildly and raising the torso into the air. It did not release; the teeth continued to slide and grind around the wound. Yet the bandage fell free with the jostles, showing the skeletal half of Russia's face, the clear bones polished off by insects, and a whole eye huge and uncovered in the centre.

America fell down the stairs and hopped onto one leg. Frantically screaming, he kicked the corpse against the wall rapidly and powerfully, over and over again with no gain. Among the renewed growls, something in America's leg cracked. America danced about and I fell down, grabbing the sweater of Russia and yanking back. The cloth ripped and America could only keep pounding at the skull. His blows were weak as he swooned from the pain, but France cracked down on Russia's back while I held him out tight.

My hands grasped the edgy ridges on Russia's hips, feeling the skin and muscles giving way underneath the clothes. I lost my hold when France smacked the body down, hitting without hesitation and refreshing the basement with further cracks of bone. The grip of the jaw refused to break, but another hit and America's tearful struggle tore the teeth across his ankle. Deep gauges were born, then the teeth clacked shut with pieces of skin between them. There was blood splattered on the permanently grinning face of the creature as America crashed onto the lowest stairs and writhed in his cries.

"Quickly!" France shouted. Unable to help America now, we rushed the shifting torso to the beam and dragged the chain with us. It rattled and swished like a snake over a rock, then it constricted Russia as his eyes widened all so large. The clearness of them showed how he examined the situation; the creases of his rotten skin and his snarl demonstrated his rage. The heavy lock clicked and fell again him, then all he could do was release his wrathful screeches upon us.

America groaned, spilling his tears as he attempted to clutch his horribly bleeding ankle. I raced to him, heard France murmur something, then glanced back just as he removed a knife on a shelf that I hadn't known was there. The blade jabbed into one of Russia's eyes, then the other, then right into Russia's throat. He cut the meat to ribbons- silencing the disturbing, inhuman shrieks. Russia could stare no more when his eyes had dropped out with the hasty yanks of the knife. He snapped his head to the sides, but he had no sense of where we were now.

The cadaver jolted but could hardly move. The teeth smacked, crunched, but there were no more sounds now. The visual signs of dangerous intelligence were gone with his eyes, and as they were holes as the corpse before him, he could appear like a regular case. A hideous, frightening monster of bone and perforated flesh that spilled obsidian insects.

"I'll carry you, America," I mewled, scooping him up from off the stairs. He instantly accepted, quivering into me and groaning. That ankle was undoubtedly broken.

France threw away the knife and hurried after us. "A horrible trick! Just waiting for someone to come back in order to hurt them. I'm telling you all, that's all he wants!"

"Oh, fuck- ah, ow, ow…" America hissed, squeezing out his tears. "I never saw this coming…"

"Neither did I," France breathed. "I just saw him a minute ago… I never imagined he would think of such a plan like this."

Up on his side, we elevated America's leg onto a stool while he tossed himself about on his couch. We placed a towel under America's foot and clenched another towel around it. He screamed at the pressure; I dropped my end and cried, "We should take him to the hospital!"

"Are you crazy?" America moaned. "How the hell do I explain these teeth marks? Ai, fuck!"

"It's broken-"

"Wrap it tight! Ah god, just stop this bl-bleeding! Motherfuc- _ah_!"

France squeezed the injury while I came back with bandages. I trembled when he screamed constantly, and France helped me connect the rolls together. He was shaking too, since handling a living and shrieking person induced a different kind of stress as when stitching the dead together. No, unless the memory was too distant, I felt that this was much worse. I hated to see America crying and screaming like this, especially when my touch caused it.

We wiped his hands, but the sticky scarlet was everywhere. Looking at how his foot flopped, I was struck with a fear that it had been disconnected. _Had it been?_ I remembered how it had looked after he had fallen, and it had looked like this.

"America, are you sure?" I whimpered. "America?"

"Ah…" he whined. "God- did it look li-like teeth? Really, tell me-"

"No, not really," France insisted. "Maybe you should."

"F-fuck it," America choked as tears rained from his eyes. "Let's say it was a car."

I sniffed, "Then-"

"Please- t-take me to the h-hospital…" he sobbed. "It's fucked- oh god, he fucked it up bad..."

France hurried to him and dug his hands under the body slumped over the couch. The slightest pressures threw America into a string of yelps, and although France saved him from hobbling, even the dangle of the foot brought him excruciating pain. America accidentally slapped the wound beside France's neck, but when France gasped, his hand slid away while an apology rushed out between his groans.

The towel around his foot dropped, dripping blood over France's shirt and pants. The floor also fell victim to the stains, but it was far too used to those dark drops. I collected the towel and tied it despite America's yell, flinching nonetheless.

"The doors, Canada," France instructed me.

I hopped ahead, first grabbing the keys for the car then clearing the way for them. I was torn back to the memory of Britain's injury, when America had caught Britain's forearm and crushed the bones within it. Although my heart was throbbing and my mind was spiraling into a sweaty panic, but I had to remind myself that it had been worse before. Britain had been bleeding more. We had called an ambulance.

 _America will be fine. It's only his ankle… He won't die again._

I snatched at the final door, revealing the car to France and clicked frantically to unlock it. My breath huffed out while I realized how frightened I truly was. We hadn't been able to foresee what Russia would do, thus I wondered how much worse it could have been.

 _I don't want America to die again. No, he can't, he can't…_

France shuffled sideways so that America's foot would not strike the doorframe. Clear, it was now my turn to pass through. I moved forward, the thoughts of terror still circling my mind, but found them interrupted by a sound. Halting, cocking my head, I searched for what had seemed like a harsh, peculiar sharpness like the clanging of a pipe. Yet unlike the clashing of metal, there had been something hominal within it.

No one else had seemed to have heard it. France was already ahead, about to struggle with the car door. I needed to help him, but I waited for a moment. The sound did not come again, leaving me to wonder if it was only a memory plaguing me in my time of fear. France had just stabbed Russia.

Surely, surely….

It couldn't have been him. No, of course it wasn't.

But I couldn't help to hold that niggling thought in the back of my mind as I glanced back at the house, as we drove further and further away from the nightmare that still remained barely held back in the basement.


	19. Chapter 19

**There will be an epilogue. This chapter is not the end of the story.**

* * *

 _Why is Russia like this?_

Such was the thought playing itself on repeat in my mind. It was the same loop that drowned out the music during my drive home with France from the hospital that America had been left at. Thinking about the monster we left behind unguarded set a minute shiver into all of my movements. Russia's ferocity and his mystery gathered me into such a corner of fear that I wondered if we could surely survive the odd days until Britain returned.

The house was quiet, always quiet. I felt sure now that I had imagined the garbled, undead cry. I could feel the stress like a static being in my nerves. Before anything else, France hugged me, attempting to tame the jitters. It would do no good though, not until we checked on Russia. And so we went to him, finding him fastened to the post, limbless and lacerated while he fixed empty sockets upon us. I could see how most of his teeth were exposed, which forced half of his face to be turned into a grin while the rest remained something recognizable.

There were streaks from his eye that dripped over the familiar skin. If I could only regard those stains, then I would have only felt pure sorrow. There, it was as though he was crying about his predicament. Yet the clear plain of bone and the dark depths of his eyes startled me, and then the creaking of his neck when we lingered too long.

"It doesn't look like he can move much now," France pointed out, nodding to the chains unsoiled by recent gore.

Russia had no answer for us. He was still, blind but observant, and he was silent during our stay. We left to begin the process of preparing to sleep, although we were still unsure of our security despite how Russia had not lashed out at us.

 _What does he want, really?_

It felt nice when France hugged me again. Calming down, I tried to sort of the reality of our new case. Some things had sense to it, as I understood that we had given Russia too much intelligence through that potion Britain sent. Nevertheless, I could not match that to Russia's aggression. He should have been kind like before if he were smart.

Heart aching, I longed to have that gentle and calm person that I had befriended back. How had all my actions led to this? It was supposed to end with America. We would have been happy then, with everyone healthy and Russia as my friend. America would even get to enjoy the extra closeness of other nations. They would have became my friends eventually, and truly, with time.

 _Why does Russia just want to hurt everyone?_

It was so frustrating to not understand. He stared at us and moved when no one was watching. Though I wondered if it wasn't at all how it seemed. Perhaps Russia had attacked France out of self defense, seeing him as a dangerous figure before him wielding a screaming chainsaw. Lacking forgiveness, maybe Russia had even intended to attack France, not America. Usually it was only France who went downstairs after all, not us.

 _But Russia clung on, knowing… Did he decide to hurt America then? But why would he? Doesn't he remember how sad and guilty America felt?_

I understood why America had become aggressive when undead. With my own desperate and ill memories lingering, I knew why he he was motivated to steal from us. Yet Russia, as horrible as the rest of his body was, should have wanted the same. If given the chance, would Russia act as normally as America and I had?

The gun from before was with us now at the bedside. It lay silent and cold, diagonal to the light of the alarm clock. I watched it glowing a faint red as France murmured to me across the sheet.

"Canada, what are you thinking about?"

"Just about what Russia wants."

France said, "I don't think he wants anything, or rather, knows what he wants."

"You said he seemed angry," I whispered. "But why is he angry? Why not remember how we had treated him?"

"I don't know," France exhaled. "Although he's smarter, the rest of his body is rotten. He might be affected, wanting to steal our organs…"

"But what you said…"

"Well, maybe he was trying to rip out my throat. It is hard to say."

"He is trying very hard to escape."

"America did too," France said.

"But if he doesn't want us… Why else would he escape?"

"I don't know what question or answer fits our situation. "

I was going nowhere, since he knew as little as me. If I was going to gain some ground, I would have to talk to America. I sighed off the conversation and said goodnight, then entered a delayed and fitful sleep. I kept hearing metallic cries like the one I felt that I heard before, but France never woke when I did, proving that these ones were products of my imagination. And this imagination was frightfully vivid in the dreams I had, where a limbless torso rolled into my room and under my bed. In one dream, I was on my side with my eyes open as something rose over the edge. The torn and eyeless skull had lifted up and stared at me, just centimetres away from my own face.

But there was nothing there when I jolted awake. Sensitive as well, France was startled awake from my reflex to the nightmare. I threw off my sweaty shirt and stared at where it landed on the floor. There were no stains on the carpet, so nothing had rolled under the bed. I went back to sleep and checked the carpet on each arousal, but we had been safe that night while waiting to get ready to fetch America.

France suggested that we check on Russia. My balance quaked and I realized just how much I did not want to ever see that creature again. The mystery of what it was and wanted and its weak form scared me endlessly. Full-limbed was more dangerous, but there was an eerie element in the weak yet mobile form of the corpse. However, I could not leave France alone. I went with him.

The chains were smothered in gore when we found him still bound to the post. For the hours of independence, he had shifted in his millimetres and rubbed himself down. His core was more crushed than ever before, the clothes shredded, but his determination to escape was more important to him than the damage he caused to himself.

 _Why is he willing to do that? Is it worth it to get our organs, or just because he wants to be free?_ I thought. _Are his motives innocent, or do I just want them to be?_

The whitish curve of his face hung in my mind like the image of a crescent moon mask. I imagined how he was pinned to the post and I felt the weight of his silence as we brought America home. His leg was in terrible shape in its cast, and America was bound to either the crutches or a cushiony place to sit. Once he had been settled in, he pawed at his laptop to open it. I sat next to him, however, needing to interrupt with my nagging questions.

"America, I couldn't see but… when Russia bit you, did he swallow your blood?"

"Ah jeez, I don't know. Couldn't feel nothing but my bones breaking."

"Nothing?"

"Well now you're just making me doubt myself. He _might_ have swallowed it, but I don't remember feeling anything but teeth 'cause he's like, _all_ teeth…"

America had looked down at the cast, seeming a tad relieved that he couldn't see the grotesque wound below. I didn't grab myself while around my brother or France, but I imagined myself raking my fingernails down my skull. I wanted a sign from Russia, just to discover his intentions. Was he angry? Was he desperate yet intelligent, just trying to take our parts?

 _Does he just want to be free?_

I banished that awful thought. For a second, I had wondered what would happen if I had undone his chains. It was a dangerous idea. Never before had I thought of something so reckless and contrary to the commands of Britain and France.

"But bro," America said. "Russia doesn't have a heart anymore, right? Britain said… It was destroyed… back then. What would be the point then?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "I'm just thinking. Russia might not remember what's in him, you know. He might just want to heal himself so much."

France crossed one leg over the other and lifted his eyes to us.

I probed again, "So are you sure you didn't feel anything?"

"I'm telling ya…" America's eyes widened. "I don't think he did!"

It was becoming harder to understand Russia's motives based on what America had said.

 _It just sounds like Russia wants out but reacts on how we treat him._

I wanted to grab my head again.

 _Stop sympathizing with him… I might make a horrible mistake if I think like this. I just need to leave Russia alone. I can last a little longer, can't I?_

America groaned when he saw his screen. He raised his hands off the keyboard and looked at forward without any idea of what to do next. Dragging out his voice in a vulnerable tone, he moaned, "Oh Canada… bro, I need your help…"

"What is it?"

"All these people…" His eyes scampered over his screen. "They're wondering where Russia is and they're demanding to see him. They won't take any more excuses…"

"Can't they w-"

"They won't wait, man, just-" He turned the screen to me and indicated the history of video calls he had missed. "Just _look_! People are suspicious and they want me to show them him, but I can't, obviously! He can't talk to them! Videos aren't working anymore- look, Belarus said that she thinks I've done something to him, that I've hidden him away! What if they start some kind of investigation?"

It panicked me when America's voice rushed out so helplessly like this. I whimpered, "I-I don't know! Ignore them, just- I'll tell them you can't answer because you got badly hurt-"

"But then they'll bother _you_ , right? Because there's no reason for you either to not let Russia Skype with someone!"

France rubbed his hands down his face. "Just do whatever it takes to buy us time. Pass it on to Canada. They'll trust him for a little while before getting suspicious. By then though, Britain will have come here himself or sent us the ingredients."

"America, I'll do it," I whispered and stared at the bumps of my knuckles. "I'll send a video in the group chat and they should calm down just long enough..."

I did it now, although I was sure that there were only one or two other videos left that they had not seen. I had to carefully examine what we had already sent as well, to be certain that I didn't send the same thing twice.

"There," I sighed after uploading something.

America said, "I'm gonna ask Britain how much longer. France, would he really be able to just send them to us?"

"He probably will, but only once he gets back to his home," he replied. "I'm just thinking that he won't be allowed to travel again after this."

America started messaging Britain, though as he did this, responses appeared to my video.

 _If Russia's free, why won't he use the time to call me back?_ Estonia wrote.

Soon after, Denmark made an observation which was likely passive, but stirred suspicion in the high-strung others. _Why is Russia always playing Xbox?_

Belarus had typed, _Pause the game._

America was startled by the dings and he checked the action. They had jumped onto the conversation immediately, and now France was leaning to the side to peek at the messages.

Belarus then wrote a string of messages.

 _I will come over._

 _I have something important to say to him._

 _He won't ignore me any more._

 _I will buy the tickets now._

"Oh shit," America breathed. "Shit!"

Latvia wrote, _I'm starting to get in trouble… I think I need to come over too. Is it okay to come for one day?_

"No, no, no…" America whispered, half answering them and half denying the situation. "They can't- what do we do?"

Through the doors separating our homes, came the muffled ringing of America's home phone. America jolted and cried, "No one answer that!"

 _It isn't like him to ignore his responsibilities_. Norway had not mentioned much about Russia before, but he was now. _I don't see why he can't do what they want. Now everyone is just wasting money._

Ukraine said, _He doesn't usually ignore us_.

I typed hastily, _Russia's leaving soon. He'll be back home within a week so you can save your money_

 _It's urgent…_ Latvia wrote.

America responded out loud while he typed, " _Just wait. I don't want my house crowded with impatient guests…_ That should do it."

"I don't know…" I admitted. "Having this group chat was a mistake. When they get to share their concerns like this-"

"Hey, I _know_. But what can I do? I can't just leave it!"

"Ah…"

"Well, Latvia can't disobey me," America muttered. "That's for sure. Probably Belarus too, small nations like them. If I just give them a nice, firm no..."

"They're really upset though," France said. "I wouldn't be so sure."

 _I don't want to wait_ , Belarus stressed.

 _Come on_ , America persisted. _We live so long and you can't handle a few days? Give this guy a break everyone. He never gets a work-free vacation_

 _Russia can't take a vacation like this_ , Lithuania asserted. _Not when the rest of us need him…_

The chat was then set loose and it was harder to read along with all that was written.

 _My boss won't wait_

 _Sounds lazy_

 _Since when does Russia do this?_

 _Is Russia really okay? Is there something he just doesn't want to say?_

And then, the telephone rang again in the distance. The messages continued to rampage.

 _Is he sick?_

 _:P_

 _You should probably make him respond to them because this is getting out of hand._

 _Russia's sick?_

America wrote, _You got the wrong idea. He's not sick_

 _Did something happen?_

 _What… Is Russia hurt?_

 _Why don't you just tell us?_

America groaned, "It's not just them, but this damn group especially gets each other riled up, and now they've got these ideas…"

"Maybe we could tell them that he's not well," I suggested. "They might take advantage of that but… it is the best solution I can think of."

So finally, I wrote, _Russia is actually not feeling good. He wants to be alone to rest_

 _Why's he playing Xbox then?_

 _He can't call or text just because of that?_

 _He can't be so sick that I can't visit him_

America sat without movement, keeping his eyes only on the screen as I wrote, _The videos and pictures are old. Russia spends most of his time sleeping so that's why he hasn't checked anything_

 _You're serious?_

 _At least Canada's honest_

 _Did you really need to lie America?_

 _Why didn't you say that my brother was so sick!_

 _Finally the truth_

 _I need to visit him to help him feel better._

America said, _He just didn't want me to say anything… Don't visit him because he really does want to be alone_

 _What is making him this sick? I don't remember seeing anything in the news_

 _He's not like dying, is he?_

 _Nothing big has changed recently though_

I said, _Russia hurt himself here and is healing_

 _He's injured?_

 _What happened?_

 _Russia will contact you all in a few days_ , I assured them. _Please be patient. You don't need to worry_

France sighed, "But like this, everyone's going to find out that Russia is injured or sick. Isn't this dangerous? This was one of the reasons why no one could know about America."

I murmured, "Yes, but… It's only for a few days…"

"Look." America's voice shuddered as he spoke. "I just need them off my back. What if someone accuses me of hurting Russia? They were just about to, I know it! How would the world see me if they thought that I'd purposefully hurt another powerful country for no good reason?"

"A little truth can help," I breathed. "I think America's problem will be solved, as long as Russia really does respond in a few days like I said."

"So all the pressure's on Britain," France mumbled.

We didn't respond to that. The messages after had become calmer, although it was unclear if someone was really going to show up here. I thought those statements had lost their meaning. However, Belarus affirmed, _I will come over and tell everyone if they are telling the truth_

The laptop slid off the side of America's leg. He groaned horribly and I myself almost lost my grip on my phone when I had seen what she had written.

"There's nothing I can do," he whispered. "Nothing… They just won't listen."

"There's no one who can be a Russia imposter," I breathed. "It couldn't be helped that they…"

"But there's no telling when she or anyone will come," France said. "He might be cured in time. That would look good for you then, don't you think?"

It wasn't enough to boost our mood. The possibility of this event hung over us like a phantom and there seemed to be nothing to do about it. We could think of some excuses, but nothing was sensible enough to use. Thoughts turned to debates, then just thoughts again. We considered the distance between India and Belarus to here. We wondered if Belarus was really going to be able to come over right away, or in a few days.

We ignored any phone that rang. America and I shied away from social media, although we knew not to stay from it for too long. Eventually, it was realized that some of the phone calls had been from Britain, but ignored. In lieu, he had sent a message.

Britain had everything now and was organizing the delivery to us. He would go home, and leave it up to us to pour it onto Russia. Still, we did not know when we would actually receive the ingredients. America was honest about our worries, revealing to Britain the group chat, the accusations they posed, and the suspicions that were growing.

America had asked me to move Russia's magnificent sunflower into the bedroom. He could be near it while he rested his leg during the day, and he could touch its petals under the gentle sunlight filtering through the window. I watered it for him, this being the most productive task completed in our anxiety. Then, when Britain replied to America, he assured us of our fear for he admitted that he was also worried. Yet the plants were on their way. They should arrive here before anyone else, unless, someone had managed to get a flight departing soon. Britain's delivery could even been beaten by mere hours.

It wasn't so much of a bad situation for me as for my brother, but I imagined how hard it would be to sleep tonight. America himself might not be able to sleep at all, expecting a knock at his door and a wrapped cure to be passed to him. We were practically mindless in our fear, but I hadn't realized it had been rather calm, until America slipped on the stairs. He had caught himself, but not before aggravating his ankle. Wheezing and turning, America had to lie in my bed again to rest through the waves of pain.

With rest came more rest, for now the time approached bedtime. The phone calls had stopped and allowed us peace as we got ready. France checked on Russia alone, reporting that he looked horrifying and had struggled hard throughout the day to escape his chains. France believed that he may have even broken some ribs wrestling with the chains today, despite the lack of room that he had.

 _I guess he's pretty strong now then._

America was worried about Russia's desperate behaviour and about his strength. Turning his head over the pillow to face where I stood by, he said, "I got more guns and I was thinking… could we keep one in here?"

"But France has one on the couch…"

"I know but, it'll make me feel better."

"Alright then, where do you keep them?"

I retrieved a loaded pistol and set it within America's reach. Assured, we were able to sleep yet only after a period of considering the day's stresses. Three-fourths into the night, we stirred at the whistles and swishes of outside. Unlike recent nights, a wind storm had picked up and made branches descend into battle against one another. Banging from the outside always startled me awake, but there was still nothing at my bedside like their had been in my nightmare.

I hated that a storm had come just like this, in the final day or so. Like this, I never knew what would come in under the cover of the noises. Exhausted however, I would always drop off asleep again and again. Eventually, the night's darkness vanished and light filtered into the room. The rainless storm continued blasting all with its sharp bites of cold air, but I slept for just a bit longer.

At eight thirty, I tiptoed to the living room while America still slumbered. France was limp on the cushions with his arm hanging over the ledge. I set it onto his slowly rising chest, before fixing the blankets. He did not even react, so fatigued he was. France must have been as troubled as I was by the wind storm, more so being here by the door. I left him to sleep while I crept off to start my day.

The messages had gotten no better, but I stayed quiet. I heard the phone ring on America's side for a moment, before the wind drowned out its soft and muffled cries. Soon after, the louder sound of America's cell phone ringing sprang up in front of me. Left on the table, it lit up and revealed the caller.

 _Latvia?_

France groaned and turned. I hasted to reject the call to leave him in peace. France was asleep again, but another call from Latvia a few minutes later disturbed him. I declined again, but realized that Latvia would know it was happening based on how his calls were cut off.

I was utterly surprised when _my_ cell phone went off. Latvia again. He was certainly being persistent, so I wondered if he had written something to America. I did not accept his call, but I opened America's computer and typed in the memorized passwords. It felt a little wrong now to access his account since he was back, but I read overwhat Latvia had written.

 _I am sorry for not letting you know, because you kept saying no to everyone… but I really have to see Russia._

My skin tightened as my eyebrows were drawn upwards.

 _So I will be here in the morning just for a little while. Please don't be mad at me… I'll leave right away afterward and I will try not to upset Russia although he is not feeling well._

There was a pause, a timelapse. The final message was the most haunting of them all.

 _Where are you? I'm at your door and I can't get in…_

"Oh my god…" I fell forward and shook France. "Wake up! Wake up! Latvia's here- what should we do?"

France was groggy at first, but then caught on fast. He jumped up and inhaled, "We have to get rid of him somehow!"

"How?" I yelped.

"Say America and Russia went out somewhere for the day- maybe that Russia needed some air…"

"I don't think he's going to believe that!"

The chime of my doorbell zapped our hearts. We snapped our heads in the direction of my front door, both pertified and unsure if it should be answered.

France said, "I'll tell America to stay where he is."

France disappeared. I gulped and padded to the door, ready to pretend that I was the only one here. The quivers and the sweat indicated just how unprepared I had been, how optimistic I had been that Russia would truly be cured before anyone visited him.

 _Latvia… Why did he have to come?_ My mind cried. _No one knew that he was already on his way! We expected Belarus, but-_

I peeled open the door. The way Latvia stood there so delicately next to his suitcase threw me back to a time long past. He regarded me differently, now that I was Canada to him. Yet it was not a bad feeling. The respect and fear was not there, and instead he was gentle and polite to me.

"I'm sorry to bother you…" he murmured. When the wind cut out his words, he had to speak up. "It's just… I'm trying to see America, but I don't think he's home… Do you know where he is?"

"He's not home right now, sorry…" I gave him an apologetic smile. "Russia started feeling better last night, so they left early to get some fresh air. Oh… he didn't know you were coming, did he? The way you were talking yesterday…"

"I know but, he was going to say no…"

"Yes, I see, because if you surprised him he would have to let you in."

Latvia blushed a little in embarrassment. His hood snapped up from the whistling wind, but he left it alone bordering his head.

"I know what you can do." My tone brightened up. "You can hang around in a hotel or something, and I'll tell you when they're back."

He dipped his head and shuffled his foot. "I guess you are not okay with me staying here then."

I did not enjoy having my image tarnished with such a harsh rejection. I needed an excuse, so I blabbered out, "Well, you see… I already have France here…"

"Mr. France is here?"

"Yes, he is… I'm sorry. If you want, I could help pay for some of your hotel."

"O-oh, no, I couldn't-"

"No, I feel bad about this… let me get some cash…"

I walked back to my bedroom and consulted France and America, who were clustered there.

"It's going well," I told them as I fetched my wallet and cracked it open. "I think I can get rid of him."

America sighed heavily, "Oh thank god."

I came back to where Latvia was patiently waiting, rocking to the wind blasts around him. I handed him a wad of money, which he nervously took. He tried to give it back, but I hid my hands. Trying to shoo him away, I said, "Take care then."

He did not go though. Latvia averted his eyes and stammered, "H-how did you end up b-being friends with Mr. Russia… by the way…?"

"The same way as America did, I guess."

"E-even when in the world conflicts right now, the hacking-"

"I know that Russia's not perfect," I admitted. "But I know that much of the bad things he does is not his fault. It hurts him too… He needs help. He is lonely, but kind when you are close to him. You just have to show that you care about him first."

Latvia looked conflicted, as though he wanted to say many different things. The creases on his voice showed no positive reaction to my words. I tried to understand that I hadn't lived his life, but still I desperately wanted to convince him. I remembered the Russia that had comforted me for hours, warm unlike the cold, rotted monster he was now. Those fleeting, wonderful memories of peace.

Ignoring my answer, he whispered, "What happened to him? I-is it really so bad?"

 _Please, just go._

Latvia stepped forward when a powerful gust hit him from behind. At that time, however, he tucked the cash into my pocket. Surprised, my eyes widened as he said, "Mr. Canada… Why are you lying?"

My breath got caught.

"America _is_ home," Latvia murmured. "Isn't he…? I-I don't know why you are lying… but I heard him by the door."

"A-ah, what? You heard _what_?"

"F-footsteps…" Latvia cowered from my raised voice.

"Stay here!"

I slammed the door, then dashed into the living room. France was gone, likely with America, so I called, " _France_! France! I need you!"

He dashed in with the gun from my bedroom, gasping, "What is it?"

"I-I think Russia's loose, over there!"

"What?" he yelped. "Really?"

We snapped our attention to the quiet double doors. I swooped down and snatched the other gun on the coffee table. Jogging to the door, our breaths puffed out ever the more rapidly with each one. We pressed our ears to the doors, but in the pauses between the wind, we heard nothing. At once, we threw open the doors and dove in. The guns swept around in a semicircle, but we saw nothing in the living room.

There was then a banging against a nearby wall upstairs. Then another, and another came after it. Trembling, we approached the source of the sound. I could not imagine what Russia was doing, only to find it was not Russia at all. The opened front door was crashing freely against the wall everytime the wind harassed it. Parts of the wood was damaged and also around the lock; we saw this just as easily as we saw the flexible grass wavering under the blue sky empty from clouds chased free.

A rogue recycling bin clattered and rolled down the street. We sprinted on the direct path to my front door, soon accompanied by a shrill scream. I snatched the door and threw it open to me. There on the steps, Latvia stared forward with massive eyes as he twitched back and tripped into his suitcase. I hopped down and grabbed him, where he latched to me for protection and let loose another wailing screech.

Then I saw the same monster that he had seen, but surely, Latvia had never seen anything more nightmarish in his life. It shambled closer, placing its hands on the walls and slowly making its way along. The vacant, black sockets were stiffly trained on us, however, and the bone revealed on that slashed face glowed under the sun. Barely any cloth hung from its frame, letting us see the ultrathin nodes of where the limbs had barely connected to themselves.

Yet as the scrawny and tall skeletal zombie padded towards us, I knew that Latvia recognized who it was. It was the main reason for him to be afraid. A severely damaged, black scarf swayed around the bumps and tears of the ravaged throat, and his dry hair still retained its colour. It was Russia, dead and yet still coming for him with his horrible, skeleton grin still stained with blood.

Then it was as though Latvia had clicked. He went rigid and straight, then fainted out of sheer terror. Russia still came closer, but France and I trained our guns on his slowly moving form. I had aimed for his head, where the eerie intelligent resided, but I was shaking and the wind was knocking our aiming. My shot raked his skull, although France's managed to go into his ribs.

Russia seemed delicate with those thin connections and a lack of internal organs. He had damaged himself to the point that his abdomen was a toothpick containing barely more than his spine. It didn't make sense. No, as my heart picked up and we fired again, I couldn't think more about how utterly _impossible_ this was.

Russia could move without all his muscles. Something else was driving him forward, and the namelessness of it terrorized me. He had set himself together in those hours, waiting intelligently, until he could move on two feet. Now, at the moment of the bullet's impact into him, that force changed him. The careful padding altered into a blurred sprint, then we hollered, fell back, and tried to pound more bullets into him.

One, two, three- but he did not stop. Russia opened that bony jaw and screeched that metallic and piercing cry that I had heard before. He moved so incredibly fast that France had no time to react to the blur of his arm. Russia struck him into the solid wall, where his head crashed against it and he slumped down unconscious before knowing what had happened. I managed another shot while Latvia's limp body slipped from my hold. However, Russia then turned onto me, screaming in rage and lunging to attack.

I hopped inside to try to lead him away from the others, those unconscious and easily harvestible. Yet I had hardly fallen into the living room before the swift skeleton snagged me, slapping me to the ground. I crashed into the table where we used to drink cocoa, whereupon it immediately broke under me. Pressed into the shards of wood, I was pinned in an instant with my arms snatched and raised. Russia slipped my right forearm between his stained teeth and crunched down, exploding fresh, red drops over them. The gun fell and I screeched as he clung, biting down harder and harder.

The shards broke through my skin before he grabbed my other wrist and performed the same task. I turned and wailed, trying to kick him off. My bones gave and my vision blackened. My hands were left half-curled, now useless, as they dropped to the ground. Then, Russia's weight lifted off me while I desperately tried to hold consciousness. Through the dark mist, I saw his hands searching. They touched the floor around me until they found the gun. Feeling it, he dragged it into his grasp.

"No!" Gasping, I swung my leg and kicked it from his hand. Just like that, I finally understood what his purpose was. Without logic or care of past emotions, Russia meant to kill America. When the gun flew away and disappeared from him, Russia snarled and struck me. His slender hand smashed my head, and filled it with lights.

Then Russia sprinted away while I failed to move my body. My mind screamed as I tried to lift myself up, but nothing would move. I could hardly even breathe as the pain and shock washed over me.

 _America! No, America!_

I heard him screaming now. It sounded as though he had hobbled into the hall, frantically trying to see what was going on. Likely feeling driven to help despite his injured condition. Russia shrieked and mingled into America's horrified cry. I heard him run, the crutches smashing the wall, smashing Russia likely, and tapping frantically across the floor. A door slammed, but then I heard wood crunching and splintering.

"Fuck! _No_!" America's voice was shrill as his door was breaking. "Please, oh god, _help_!"

It was at that moment that I was thrown back to my original terror, back when I had seen America fall. Now, I could see it again and all so clearly. I saw his body breaking on the rocks and the stick entering his side. I remembered his body, fresh and bloody, torn, limp. The innards of my brother exposed and draped like a curtain from a tree branch. Spikes of the honey locust, sharp branches- merciless fingers, violent fingers- they had torn into his helpless body-

My feet thudded across the ground like thunder, and everything else blurred as I gained a tunnel vision. Russia collapsed when I tackled him, just a metre from America, who had been about to smash the window with a crutch. If I had wasted any time on the gun, I would have been too late. Russia wrestled me, rolling and clacking his teeth at my throat. He hissed and shrieked those dead cries for hindering him, those heartless cries that resembled nothing of Russia.

"Canada!"

America dove at Russia, grabbing him and trying to drag him off me.

"No, don't-"

Sure enough, Russia neglected me, hopping off to tackle America. Yet the passion arouse inside me, and I could not under any circumstance, let Russia harm America. Not after all that had happened. No, America couldn't die. We were so close to the end. He couldn't. Russia had to be stopped at all cost.

I fell onto Russia's back and hooked my arms around him. The arm that went over his face protected America from his snapping teeth, those that cracked into the same spot that they had already injured. I caterwauled in agony but fell back and took Russia with me, holding onto him tightly. He released my arm and whirled around, scrambling to mutilate. The sockets zoomed at me and the jaw opened again, flickering droplets of scarlet onto my cheeks.

I grabbed him and pulled him to me tight. He could hardly move when I wrapped my legs and arms around him, although it was only a temporary solution. Russia was incredibly strong and his jolts were making me lose more of my grip on each one. My hands could not grab either, to help hold him down. One of Russia's legs kicked back and smashed into America's face as he rushed in, stunning him for the moment. I was left trying to control the struggling creature, who had begun snapping his teeth at my face in raw ire.

"Stop, Russia!" I wailed. "Why are you doing this?"

Russia paused for half a second before jamming his face under my jaw and pressing back my head.

"It's me, Canada!" I cried. "We're friends, Russia! Please!"

The teeth pressed around my throat, but held themselves there. I could do nothing. He could kill me easily like this if he crushed my bones and windpipe. Yet Russia pushed me away suddenly, turning onto America as he rushed to us with a raised crutch. He hit America while trying to grab him, but it was not hard enough, so America still managed to roll over my bed to lead Rusia away from me. Still trying to fight, to be a hero, America hollered and struck Russia with all the strength he could muster.

Russia grabbed the crutch and yanked it away from him. America then went to hurling any object he could at him. Each item broke on Russia, and for some seconds, America managed to stun him with those powerful hits. Russia crawled onto the bed and reached for him, but America hopped off and ripped out the drawer of my dresser. He savagely struck Russia with it, eyes full of tears and anger that Russia had dared harm me.

Yet Russia was coming closer, cornering him again. America's drawer had now broken, and now Russia screeched and reached for America. No matter how America and the rest of us had attacked him, nothing had stopped Russi. I could see now exactly what we had created, as he ignored all injury just to get to America.

This was a creature of the most purest of wrath, one that Russia had lost control off. Almost lost control of. He was there, somewhere, I knew, for in the moment he had paused his attack on me, he had heard me and had responded to my fear. I grabbed the flower pot between my forearms and screamed Russia's name. He recognized my voice, halting just long enough for me to zip around the bed and squeeze between him and America. My brother tried to stop me, but I pushed him back and shielded him. I then raised the pot until the flower fell into Russia's face, the petals tickling both bone and flesh alike.

"Russia," I was pleading with him. Begging. "No one wanted to hurt you. Please stop. America never meant to do this to you… We love you, please… You're still here, you're smart… There is still life in you."

Russia went still. Standing and tilting his head just slightly, he raised his hand to touch the flower stalk with a finger. We breathed carefully and caught our breaths as Russia put his skull eyes onto the flower head he could not see, and to the fiery colours of the petals which he caressed. It was his cherished flower, the one that he had trusted us to protect.

The skeletal corpse twitched, its chest moving and facial muscles shifting. The memories must have been returning, of how America had tried comforting him with this flower, and of how we had tried to care for him. Perhaps still, Russia was thinking of all the time he had spent with me, just before hurting me like he had. I don't know which memories affected him, but Russia quaked and cried in the only way that he could.

The wind shrieked, but Russia would not join it anymore with savage cries. Breaking away, Russia mewled softly in a way that sounded like himself. The lust for vengeance was gone as he wavered in sorrow, his ribs shaking more as he pet the flower over and over again. My arms shivered from weakness, but I fought to kept the pot raised for him.

"We're going to fix you, Russia," I assured him in a gentle voice. "Just a day I think, and then you'll be okay."

His teeth dripped blood, but I stayed where I was when he reached out to me. America held his breath along with me as Russia touched my shoulder and stroked down it. When he seemed to have lost interest in the flower, I set it onto the nightstand. Then, Russia slipped forward and pulled me into him. I was not thrown into the floor, but instead against the ravaged remains of his sweater. The scarf and shirt were dirty and he smelled of that powerful must of rot, but I ignored it all when the tears came. Russia's rotten and thin arms pressed in around me, but I couldn't concern myself over the details when Russia's melancholy overwhelmed me.

"You weren't really mad," I murmured. "You were sad, weren't you? You didn't want to die… It didn't feel fair. We killed you and it was horrible. You were alone…"

Russia's jaw fell over my head. He kept hugging me, whining until my attention was captured by police sirens approaching from afar. Neighbours must have heard the screaming, something more surprising than gunshots coming from America's house. Taking his cue, America swore and rose with the help of the wall. He was ruffled, but unharmed.

"I can make them go away. If…" Then America glimpsed my arms. "You- holy shit, what happened to your wrists!"

"It's not important right now." I tried to keep my voice steady. In reality, I was starting to feel tired from the blood loss, hits, and stress. But I jolted when a face swung around the corner. It was France's, which opened up into complete surprise when he saw me embracing the corpse.

"Is- so you have him under control?" he stammered.

"For now," America answered, hobbling forward. "Where's Latvia?"

France danced around and passed America's crutches to him. "I heard the sirens coming, so I put him inside. He started to wake up."

"Help me to the door-"

France gasped, "Canada, y-your-"

"I'm fine," I rushed. "Just- the police! America has to-"

America insisted to him. "I can get rid of them. They'll listen, just- clean up some evidence!"

France hurried ahead to close the doors and collect the guns. America clacked his way after him, but both had cast worried glances back at me. There was no time, since another problem needed to be averted. But that look of France's told me that he would sprint back in a few moments. Undoubtedly, he wanted to separate me from Russia and take me to the hospital. Knowing that it would come, that we would have to leave, I walked into Russia until he complied and sat on the bed.

He sat in the already besmirched sheets. He glanced at me with his hollow eyes as I bent his legs so that he was sitting cross-legged. I then took the flower pot between my forearms, quivering in fatigue as I carefully squeezed it. It was set down in the hole of his crossed legs, firmly set in place and within his hold. Perhaps Russia would forget again and turn to his vengeful thoughts, but I felt sure that as long as he had this reminder, he would stay placid.

"I have to go to the hospital," I whispered, trying not to let my voice waver once I had gazed upon the severity of my wounds. It was hard to feel the shattered bones now, but once I paid attention to the gory details, fright was awakened inside me. It was worse than I had known, and precisely why France raced back to me seconds later.

"Where is your health card?" he demanded. He observed Russia on the bed, but since he was frozen like an ice sculpture bent over that flower, he left him. I told him it was in my wallet, the one he had seen before. He grabbed it, then yanked me away from Russia. No doubt that he still didn't trust him. He wanted to protect me since he wasn't able to before.

Just before France dragged me away, I touched Russia's shoulder blade. The chest below twitched, and that was his only reaction. All the aggression had been sapped from him, and now, he would only sit until the very end. He knew he would wait, but I called for him as we parted.

"I will be back soon!" I told him. "And the next time you see me, you will be whole again!"

Russia shifted his mouth, but he was unable to speak. He looked up at me, but he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. Maybe he had heard all of my words, but maybe it had only been some. There was a chance that he had heard none of my words really, and had only reacted to the tone of my voice. But I knew that he was there and caring about me more than he had ever before. Wrought by regret and emotion, Russia clung to the flower pot and leaned forward as I left.

And I knew that he would stay there, faithfully, and daring not to move and frighten anyone. If he did make any movements, it would be to only stroke that flower of his which he loved so dearly. This itself, brought me back to another memory so delicate and warm. Once, long ago, Russia had lulled me to sleep with a story of how he had met this flower. I supposed it was because these words had been spoken to me in that time before slumber, for they had easily imprinted themselves onto my mind. I felt sure that I remembered the words which had rolled so smoothly off his tongue as Russia murmured to me.

 _And here, I found the flower. It was so beautiful and tall, the prettiest kind of sunflower I had ever seen. I was very small and weak, so I did not hurt the flower when I hugged it..._

I imagined how he might have been, with eyes bright and purple, and I imagined his accent even if some of the words were wrong. He was leaning to the computer while we Skyped, I in bed, and he at his desk with the daylight shining upon him. My mind immortalized his gentleness, the same one that I longed to see again before me, brought back to life. And more than just seeing it, I would feel it, and I would hear it as well. Not only from his tender voice, but I would know his kindness once I was close enough to hear the steady beats of his heart once more.

Then perhaps, Russia would let America listen and know it too.

* * *

 **I will post one more short thing to describe the aftermath and tie everything up. I need to remind you all that it is not over until I specifically write "The End". I always have the problem of people** **panicking or** **critiquing** **something which is not the true end of the story.**

 **Thank you for reading, however.**


	20. Epilogue

**You may notice that this epilogue is written in a tone different than the chapters before it. This was intentional and why this is not called a chapter. I say this because there was a discussion about it with my editor. It is almost entirely telling and not showing, and I switched the verb tense to mostly the past perfect form. The focus is the aftermath of the events and the verb tense is intended to give the sense that everything before it is a part of a story Canada has made in his mind from his memories. The line at the very beginning of this fic and the first person style reflects that it is truly his story that happened sometime in the past. The future he lives in now is unknown.**

* * *

Ever since I had taken over the role of being America, I had hoped for a positive change in the world. The only thing was I hadn't expected it would come like this, where I lay in the hospital bed approached by those who cared for me. I had been pale, my arms wrapped up, so their faces had been downcast with sorrow. However, there had also been an unconcealable excitement escaping through their features because I would be okay, and everything was over. America was here to pick me up, and he had brought Russia with him.

There had been many fluttering blinks, then I was startled by the truth. America had let Russia rush to me, and I had hardly had the time to sit up before he embraced me. There in the hospital, he had been warm and soft in a fresh change of clothes, showered, and smelling of soap. I had missed the conversion again, but it hardly mattered then. Hands had been sweeping over me, and constant apologies had been murmured above my head. Nothing I said could convince him that I didn't blame him and that I didn't care I was hurt.

When he had slipped into Russian, his words became too advanced for me to understand. But it had been enough for him to hold me, and for me, him. I had peeked over to America to see how he was taking this spectacle, and I had found him wearing a gentle expression. Never before had I ever seen such a face pointed in the same direction of Russia in life. It did not feel strange then when I cracked and cried in my utter elation that Russia was back. It seemed equally natural when Russia cried as well in front of him, mourning for all that had happened and in relief to be healed.

After Russia had pulled away rubbing his tears, America had tapped his way over on his crutches. He snatched me, giving me a classic squeeze to combine affection, gratitude, and desperation all into one gesture. The action had spoken more words than his mouth could have, and it spoke for all the times that he hadn't demonstrated his love for me. Then, finally, I had returned the kiss upon my face from the basement, planting it back onto America's temple. My cheeks were freshly coated with burning tears when I was flooded anew with the emotion of rapture, that America too was okay and no longer suffering. And here, America had cried in Russia's presence without hesitation, although not as much as me.

At that time, he had breathed back to me in rushed words that I knew could only be sincere. America hugged me and sighed, "My god, Canada… I love you so much… I swear I'll try not to let anything hurt you again. I'll be careful, okay? I'll protect you like you did to me."

I had sobbed and rocked, light-headed and dependent. America eventually calmed me down and reminded me that we needed to plan the next course of action. With that, I had switched over to become more anxious to know what would happen now that Latvia had been exposed to the secret.

America had explained that France was trying to calm him down and explain what had happened, for Latvia would not believe that it had been a dream of some sort. They had left the scene, separated Latvia from Russia, and gone to a cat café.

"So what are we going to do?" I had asked. There was the true question, that was really the question ruling my life since August. When I had learned of the deathless condition, when the weather had been dry and hot, it had always been about hiding the truth from the other nations, or revealing it.

Russia hadn't seemed to know what to say, but this had never been his problem. I had dragged him into it late, and I could see that he was still confused about the details and consequences. America believed that there was no going back, however. Latvia would tell the others the moment that he could.

I remember then how Russia had cracked a peculiar smile, and had insisted, "I can make Latvia quiet."

America reacted, knowing the threat. Instead of turning on him aggressively, however, America had said, "We should tell them all. I mean, if only the nations know, then what is the danger?"

Hope had bloomed in my chest imagining this possibility. Of course the citizens of the world could not know. They would not understand; they would fear us and religious cults might attempt to persecute us. It was best if the world saw us as humans. Yet, if the nations knew the problems that arose, they might change how they treat each other.

They collected me, and it was in the car that the blossom in my heart expanded and gained confident, iridescent colours. My arms were useless then, America's leg damaged, and Russia was driving. Yet here, we were together as three nations of different backgrounds, sitting under a cover of peace despite the worries we had about Latvia's knowledge. I suddenly had the sense that this was the state we should be in, and that anything else would be unnatural.

To take over someone else's land required an incredible dedication to violence. The attacker would have to eliminate the people or their identity. Killing a nation was possible, that I knew, but it was not as simple as a shot to the head. I thought of it as a phoenix effect then, instead of as a zombie condition. The people's last stand, the opportunity to fight back and take down the enemy. It might not have happened yet, or maybe it had and I didn't know it. A terrible mistake, a cycle of killing, where one survived and the other disappeared, or both vanished.

America had asked, "What do you think Britain will say?"

He had meant about revealing the secret, since Britain had forbade that for so long. Yet for once, I felt that Britain would agree with us. It was only right to discuss it with him first, so we called him and informed him of all that had happened. Britain was hurt to know how I had been injured, shocked that Latvia had arrived, and relieved that they had administered the cure he had delivered. In the end, he was convinced that there was nothing else they could do. The nations would learn the secret, but no one else.

"But how can we make a whole presentation?" I murmured while America had Britain on the phone. "How will they take us seriously?"

France was still out with Latvia, coming home soon, and I was beside Russia on the couch. Throw pillows had been stationed around me, and Russia had placed the maple blanket around my shoulders. It was in this scene that America had told us that he had taken a few pictures of Russia. None of us had known that, and the information startled Russia. He jolted and fixed America with wide eyes.

"You want to show them that?" I had inhaled. "America…"

To my surprise, America had asked Russia if it would be okay to use them. I understood then that he truly intended a presentation in the form of a slideshow. Russia had suddenly demanded to see the pictures, so while Britain waited, America lent Russia his phone. As he scrolled through the gallery, his body had bent inwards and away, his eyes had glimmered in fear of himself, and through what was likely unconscious thought, Russia moved closer to me.

France came back exactly then, bringing in Latvia. The unfortunate Baltic had scarcely taken a few steps into my living room before encountering Russia. Russia had looked up towards him, and his eyebrows raised when Latvia wobbled and fell sideways. France had caught him and roused him from his brief blackout, but Latvia could not handle being here. The table was still broken, there were stains, and the house reeked from Russia's intrusion.

We had filled in France while he tried to prompt Latvia to join us. Luckless, France had to accompany Latvia when he rushed outside to sit out in the cold instead. In their absence, Russia had at first refused to have the pictures shown. He had not liked Latvia's reaction to him and he feared how he would be treated. However, America assured him that he would do his best to get the others to treat him well.

Belarus had showed up soon after. Russia was cured and we could have gotten away with a lie, but it was easier to use Latvia's fright and explain the truth to her. She had been the first to view America's pictures, the test subject, and we saw how the shock washed over her face. Russia had been a little firm, demanding that she not tell anyone yet, because they would do that later at the next world meeting. Even Ukraine would wait to know.

So Belarus had confirmed Russia's health to the group chat. Russia too, had finally responded after he had read the lies we had said about him. Life became significantly less stressful then, but there were little issues still here and there. Latvia was in a terrible state of shock and fear, but he stayed around and I think it was because he didn't want to be alone. Whatever he had come for had been forgotten until Russia reminded him, then he managed to send off whatever he had to. Afterwards, I had a duty of comforting him, which I didn't mind so much.

When we had tidied up a bit, Kumajiro was brought back into the house. He had noticed how some things had changed, but he knew that there was no longer any threat, thus he was able to slip back into his old life. There were living people around, no moaning from afar, so he got back to ignoring much of whatever anyone else was doing. He let Latvia and the others touch him, but it was only me who he would approach to be held by.

Our plans had then on became even more vague. What were we to do now except for the presentation? Belarus and Latvia went home, promising to be quiet until the next meeting, and soon Russia had to go back too. We were separating, and things were looking as though they would go back to a state similar to how they had been before. I had grown so used to Russia and France being here that to imagine that they would leave struck a blow into my heart. The house would be so quiet and empty, the places where they had slept bare, and their faces would fade just a little in my memories with the created distance.

But I had America, and I was thankful for that. Russia had been the third to leave, his face with lines upon it as he gently struggled to say his farewells. He was no longer angry at what had happened, and he didn't mind that America still had two of his organs. That would be later fixed by Britain, but Russia had found some kind of amusement in that America would be close to him no matter what he did. Some of the things Russia said still surprised America, but he had learned not to overreact to them, to scorn him, to become offended.

The flower was his eternal gift left to share between us. As Russia had put it, it would be a gift that would last beyond our time, for all of our lives and maybe beyond it, as long as we cared for that flower. It needed little attention, but America and I had bought a larger, rectangular enclosure for it. We talked about how we could buy special soil for it, nutrients, decorations for the box. It was like a new pet, but we knew that it was a much grander symbol of our friendship with Russia.

He had told us, anyway, that we could destroy the flower if we became enemies of war. He did not want us to keep that flower if we betrayed it, and became entirely intent on finishing him. I was almost offended that he had suggested that. Russia had hugged us, and we had hugged him back, warmly and with good-hearted emotions back at the airport. I could not fathom a future now where any of us would want to harm the others, not after all that we had gone through. It seemed even more impossible when the emails came, the calls, the messages, the pictures. America ignored none of them now, but answered in sincerity. And on the days when we all had time, we continued to develop the world in the Minecraft game I had started with Russia before.

After Russia, it had been France's turn to disappear from our daily lives. I hadn't known how to thank him for his support through this entire ordeal, or where to even start. My words had been messy, but the hugs and served their purpose again in tying people together. France assured me that he was glad to have been here, to have known about everything and to suffer with me, just so that he could have made my life easier. I hadn't want him to let go of me either at the airport, but time moved forward and suddenly, we were waving goodbye as he passed through security.

During one of our evenings alone, I had sighed to America, "It's hard letting everyone go."

"I know," he had answered. "I get that, and it's probably way worse for you."

The conversation had been unplanned, but I eventually came to the point of just letting my feelings leak through. I had cried, Kumajiro had nuzzled me, and America had held me. I had explained how I had thought I would be so alone, dealing with his death. But then I had gotten so much support from everyone that I never expected. Britain had tried so hard to help me, Kumajiro had done his best, then France and Russia had given me their comfort. America had learned how I had felt so utterly insignificant as Canada when playing as him, when interacting with other nations and being forgotten. That I had never expected to be loved like this by others, even if it was only a few.

America had told me, "When they learn that it was you being so cool and nice to everyone and not me, they might like you more. They did love you, you know. They just don't know that yet. But that's why we got this group chat! You're gonna show them, bro. We'll go out and party, and you'll make them remember you."

"I don't know if I can do that again," I had exhaled. "Not like this."

"What do you mean?"

"Not like me, as Canada… That's not who I am. I don't have that kind of confidence..."

"What do you mean?" he had protested. "You've changed, Canada! You're not as quiet anymore and you've been letting everyone know what's on your mind!"

"You think so? Have I really changed that much?"

"Sure you have! I know you can do it."

I had smiled. I supposed I did behave differently than before, where I was not as hesitant to say what I wanted, that I was louder and more firm when I spoke. Not in the way of America, however. No, pretending to be him had not made that behaviour affect me. I was different in my own way, a new product formed from the troubles I had faced in trying to find out what was true and just.

"You should be the one to do the presentation," America had insisted to me.

"Me?" I had gasped.

"Why not? Everyone needs to know what you did, and they'll care more about your story if you're the one to tell it."

"I don't think they'll listen to me. I mean, they will, but not like if they were listening to you talk."

America had said, "Not if you talk to them like you talk to us now. If you're clear and loud, you'll get their attention. You don't have to be commanding or anything."

"But I don't know what to say… I thought that you were going to do the presentation, so I never planned how to do it."

"You have a lot of time though," he had argued. "You'll think of something, and then I'm sure that you'll do a better job than anyone else could have! I mean, I wasn't hardly there really! You can explain the details, the emotions-"

"Why should I do that?"

"You gotta make them understand the hell you went through. Scare them away from doing dangerous things or attacking each other. Make them respect you for doing what you did, and for fooling them completely!"

Yet some of it had seemed unnecessary to me. It didn't seem like my emotions were important when I was trying to explain what could happen to the others. I did not think that anyone would legitimately care about how I how felt during the experience and what my thoughts had been.

But then I grew passionate through the days on which I practiced. It did matter, I had decided, because _I_ mattered. I was loved and I was important to other people. I _had_ done so much that I did not deserve to hide in passivity, but to express to the world that I was strong, a survivor, and someone who would not be forgotten.

With this modified voice and mindset, I could start making the difference I wanted in the world. I had America and Russia's support, for I had already connected them to me and to each other. I had Britain and France, and I would gain more through confident acts of kindness.

They would be scared when they learned what had happened. I would use that, and I would do everything in my power to bring peace into this world. It was fully in my capabilities, and when America had swung his arm around me and asked if I was ready for the presentation next week, my heart had not wavered.

I had stated, "Yes, I am ready for it."

The days were scratched off mentally one-by-one. The meeting approached and I practiced by myself every day for about an hour with the material that America had prepared. The length of the actual presentation was sure to vary. I never said the exact same thing everytime I practiced, but I went with what flowed naturally. I knew that when the time came and I would suddenly rise from my chair to halt the meeting, that whatever I said would be dictated by my heart.

I saw Russia's fiery flower about an hour before we departed. I remembered it briefly in the car, but it was replaced in my mind by how I imagined Russia would watch me as I presented. I was not nervous, and I knew that I would find a way to protect Russia from the fear of the others once they known what had happened to him. I had not told it to America yet, but I would reveal that I too, had once suffered through the same condition as America and Russia.

The flight was long, but America was there beside me. Our eyes had been focused on our own screens, our own movies, but we had come together just so that we would not be separated on our journey. And America was not here to comfort me, for he sensed that I did not need anyone else's help for this. My statement had confirmed me to him.

Russia did not know that I would be the presenter when he found us. Britain did not know, nor France, Latvia, or Belarus. I had wanted that shock, so that all at once, I could see how the world would react to the changed me. I knew that those who had followed me through this experience would soon have eyes alight with encouragement after I had started. They would be quiet, and in hearing my story in its entirety, their hearts would tear anew for me.

"You're gonna start before Germany gets into something, right?" America asked me in a brief moment of privacy. "Like, at the start?"

"Yes." I looked over and into his eyes with my own clear ones. "I know it will make everyone feel strange when we actually start discussing the real subject of the meeting, but I think it will be fine. Maybe everyone will take it more seriously, and something will get done."

"Bro, it's going to be amazing."

I smiled again.

America looked around, then continued, "A lot of servants in here you'll have to kick out."

"Yeah."

"Make sure Britain gets his tea first before you do."

I laughed softly. Thanks to that suggestion, I had kept on eye on him for a while. When Britain noticed me watching him, however, he could not imagine the true reason of why I was doing so.

"Oi, Canada." America flicked his head at the entrance. There was about one chair still empty, and one nation was coming in. "We're about to get started."

My hand tightened around the USB key.

"You good to go?"

It was a redundant question. I was ready, and the world would soon know it as well.

I said to my brother, "Of course. I have everything I need."

And after about a minute had passed, the meeting commenced.

I took in a breath, then stood.

 **The End**


End file.
